Game Mechanics: Autobalance
by Hobbithearted
Summary: Newsflash! The Medic switches sides. Its... probably fairly obvious that that's where this story is going. I tell you so in the title. But, the fact that he does isn't important. The how, the why, and more importantly the *consequences* of it... is.
1. Gratitude

"You failed!" accused the Announcer over the loud speakers, her voice dripping with disdain.

_No, really?_ The BLU Medic grumbled to himself, ducking around an apparently abandoned dump truck and into the drain pipes that would lead him to the territory the BLUs were still technically in control of. It would be a few minutes before the cease fire would officially be called, minutes that the winners would use to hunt down as many of the losers they possibly could, and horribly kill them. This didn't sound like a particularly appealing fate to the Medic, and so he was determined to avoid it. _How very surprising. Perhaps next time you vill not hire so many Snipers und Spies for one team. _And, speaking of Spies...

The pipe he'd taken led to a small underground room, with two other pipes branching off from it. From the corner to his left came the hoarse call of "Doctor!" The Medic turned to find one of his comrades, one of the two BLU Spies, collapsed in the corner. He looked as though he'd been shot _and_ set on fire, and the Medic was amazed he was still alive. Still, his wounds were nothing that the Medigun couldn't fix, given a minute or two. On the other hand, the REDs had a Spy, too---a fact he'd been quite paranoid about since he learned of it, since his particular line of work made him an enemy Spy's favorite target. This could easily be a trick, and if it was he'd be out of luck, with no working weapons besides his Medigun (which hardly counted).

His sense of caution and self preservation suggested, quietly, that he shouldn't take the risk, but even as it did so, he stepped closer and, pointing the Medigun at the Spy, clicked it on. The Spy sighed in relief and, wincing, climbed to his feet. He dusted his suit off, tsking in annoyance at the burn marks and bullet holes. The Medic gave him a few seconds to preen before growling, impatiently, "Zhere is no time for zhat. Ve must get out of here."

"We?" The Spy repeated, dryly. "I am afraid not, Doctor." Then he reached up for his mask.

_Damn!_ His little voice of self preservation would have been bursting with smug _I told you so!_s if it hadn't been screaming at him to run. The BLU didn't need to wait and see the flash of red to know his "comrade" was showing his true colors. Before the RED Spy had even removed his mask, the Medic was pelting down the pipe that would take him into BLU territory. He had reached the bottom of the stairs into the base before the Spy could catch up with him. Unfortunately, before he could start up the stairs, he noticed the RED Pyro coming _down_ them.

* * *

The RED team's Spy calculated his chance of survival, and was not pleased with the result. He was, in fact, lucky to have lived _this_ long. The BLUs that attacked him were too inept to catch him once his cover was blown, and he'd managed to cloak and limp away and douse the flames with a rather undignified roll in the water at the bottom of the drain pipe. Unfortunately, this left him bleeding to death in a ditch, with his teammates too busy celebrating their victory with wholesale slaughter to come looking for him with a handy medpack. He had almost resigned himself to dying alone and unloved in the dirt like some filthy peasant, when the BLU Medic came stumbling down the nearest tunnel. It appeared his luck was holding! It took only a moment to redisguise himself. Now, if he could just make himself heard over the sounds of gunfire outside... "Doctor!"

The Medic skidded to a stop and spun around, looking startled. And then suspicious. _Per'aps my luck is not holding after all_... The Medic knew, or guessed, that he wasn't who he appeared to be. And the ironic thing was, the BLU wouldn't have to lift a finger to kill him, all he had to do was walk away-

A flood of healing, regenerate-y goodness suddenly coursed through his veins, the Medigun's medicine chasing away his pain, like ice water dousing flames. He heaved a genuine sigh of relief before he could stop himself, and climbed to his feet. Taking a moment to regain his composure, and bask in his good fortune, he gave his suit a quick inspection and hissed in displeasure at what he saw. _Ruined..._

"Zhere is no time for zhat," the Medic interrupted him, suspicion quickly replaced by impatience. He glanced back the way he'd come, with a touch of nervousness, continuing, "Ve must get out of here."

Vague plans to use the opportunity to infiltrate the BLUs flitted through his mind, but he quickly dismissed them. Time to end this little charade. "We?" He repeated, carefully keeping the sudden pang of regret out of his voice. What was there to regret? The Medic was an easily manipulated fool, just like the rest, who had only healed him because he'd been taken in by the Spy's disguise. But this was no time for introspection. He carefully made a note of the emotion, to be inspected thoroughly later, at his leisure. And then he reached up for his mask. "I am afraid not, Doctor."

He expected the Medic to stare stupidly at him, to be properly terrified at his impending, stylish doom. Perhaps even foolishly take a swing at him. He had _not _expected the Medic to spin and sprint away before he had even finished speaking, so quickly that he had to have been poised to do so. _He..he was expecting zat! _ This revelation left the Spy so surprised that he allowed himself a few seconds to just stand there, gaping, as the Medic disappeared down the tunnel, leaving his dramatic reveal in the dust. _And he healed me despite ze fact..._ It was an uncomfortable thought. His life had been saved by a complete stranger, who had stuck his neck out fully expecting to get it slit in the process?

Well. He would repay the debt by letting the BLU escape back to his base. That should be fair enough.

Muffled, maniacal laughter rang through the tunnel that the Medic had disappeared down, followed shortly by a curse in German.

_Merde_, the Spy groaned, and took off towards the commotion before he could talk himself out of it.

* * *

He met the Medic coming the other way. A look of chagrin flashed over the BLU's face, and the doctor quickly backpedaled, his eyes darting around for another means of escape. The Spy put an end to this, and immediately gained the Medic's full attention as well, by pulling his gun and pointing it at a spot between the German's eyes. Footsteps and the sound of a flamethrower heralded the approach of the RED Pyro. Shooting a glare at the masked maniac, the Spy made a dismissive gesture at him with his free hand. "Go find somezing else to play with. Zis one is mine."

The Pyro growled at him. Then, with a very rude gesture, he stalked off back into BLU territory, obviously hoping to wreak havoc before the cease fire began. The Spy wondered briefly how the Pyro had ended upin the BLU controlled territory to begin with, but then dismissed the thought as inconsequential. He had more important things to worry about, like keeping the BLU Medic from running away before the Spy could finish saving him.

Turning his full attention back to his disgruntled savior, the Spy found the man glaring at him. Back straight, jaw clenched, the Medic was trying very hard to ignore the minature cannon that was poised to ventilate his skull. This was impressive---the Ambassador was meant to draw one's attention, especially when getting such a close view. Well, at least he wasn't trying to run away. The Spy returned the glare with a look of utter indifference.

Seconds ticked by.

Finally, the Medic snarled, "Vhat are you vaiting for?!"

Lazily, the Spy made as if to check his watch. _Three... two... _

A buzzer blared over the speakers, loud and piercing. The "round" was officially over, the cease fire was now in effect. "Zat," The Spy answered, simply. Lowering his weapon, he cloaked and sauntered away, a job well done.

* * *

The Medic opened his mouth to demand to know what the Spy was up to... and then shut it again. He was alive, that was the important thing. He should stop worrying about _why_ and get back to whatever was left of his team mates. Taking a deep breath to calm his jangling nerves, he trotted down the pipe, _again_.

Only to narrowly miss sticking his face into the muzzle of the RED Pyro's flamethrower. _Verdammt!_

He started to backpedal, only to be stopped by a muffled growl from the Pyro. For the second time in the last five minutes, the Medic found himself in a stand-off with an inscrutable enemy. _I am getting very tired of zhis._ "Ve-"

"_Mmpff_," the Pyro interrupted, his flamethrower giving off a small burst of flame, making the Medic take another quick step back to avoid getting his face singed off.

Determined, he tried again. "Ve have ein _cease fire_," he reminded the RED, doubting very much that the crazy pyromancer would let a little thing like that stop him.

The Pyro glared at him. He made as if to prod the Medic with his flamethrower, and then jabbed a finger towards the drain pipe. The meaning was clear: _You. Move._

Not one to argue with a man weilding a flamethrower, the Medic gritted his teeth and allowed the Pyro to herd him back down the tunnel. _Verdammte Scheiße. _


	2. Democracy

They regrouped at the newly captured Control Point.

"Hell, that was easy."

"Yo, we're on fire!"

"I am amused by entire itty-bitty-teeny-team!"

"Bloody beaut."

"You've done me proud, boys."

"Well done, us."

The RED Sniper nodded to their smirking Spy. "Good t' see you're still in one piece, mate. Y'look like you ran inta a bit a trouble."

Reminded of his ruined suit, the Spy allowed himself a moment to be irritated, before dismissing the emotion. "Yes, well... It was not anyzing I could not handle." Rules against divulging personal information aside, he'd rather eat his suit than tell his teammates how he'd managed to survive the encounter.

"Hey, where's Pyro?" Their Scout frowned at his gathered teammates, then around at the surrounding landscape. "Anybody seen 'im?"

"Oui." The Spy calmly took out his cigarrete case and selected one. "He was down in ze drain pipes, looking for BLUs..." As the words left his mouth, the Spy had a sudden sinking feeling. He was too self composed to do something so gauche as facepalm, but he _wanted_ to. How, _how_ could he have forgotten their Pyro? _Non, non, don't panic. Per'aps ze doctor went anuzzer way..._

RED's Pyro chose that moment to come into view, prodding a very resigned looking BLU along ahead of him. There were a few moments of stunned silence, and then the REDs all started shouting at once. All except the Spy, who---with his team mates distracted---took the opportunity to pinch the bridge of his nose; and the Sniper, who simply studied the Pyro's "catch" with an expression he usually wore when lining up a headshot.

After a few moments, the confusion sorted itself into the Soldier shouting in the Medic's face, with the Scout snarling over the Soldier's shoulder. No one else could get a word in edgewise. The Medic was doing his best to ignore them, glaring off at a point in the distance. From the way a muscle in his jaw kept twitching, he was not succeeding.

"Not so tough without somebody ta hide behind, are ya. _Are_ ya?"

"You are _scum_. You BLUs are nothin' but a buncha cowards!"

"Hey knucklehead, I'm talkin' ta you! You. _Suck_."

"I am going to _enjoy _killing every single one of you sorry sacks of scum."

"Are you listenin' to me? I'm gonna bat your freakin' head in!"

The Engineer cut in before they could continue. "We're in the middle of a damn cease fire. Cain't just kill 'im." He shot a glare at the Medic, just in case the BLU thought he was going soft or something. "Not that I reckon he don't deserve it. Dang blasted BLUs..."

The Soldier grumbled for a moment, but the Scout already had a solution.

"A'right then. We just wait til' th' end of th' cease fire and _then _kill 'im." He smirked at the doctor.

_Zis is getting out of hand._ The Spy wasn't sure why he was bothered by the idea of his team shooting the Medic. Certainly, it was bound to happen sooner or later out on the battlefield. He wasn't sure where this sense of gratitude, this... _obligation_ to return the favor was coming from. It wasn't like him. And _now_ he had to find a way to keep his comrades from killing the doctor, without letting them wonder why _he_, of all people, was speaking up for the BLU.

Help came from an unexpected quarter. "I think," the Heavy spoke up, the rarity of such an announcement illicting immediate silence, "We should keep him."

"What?" The Scout squawked. "Why th' hell would we do-"

"Leetle BLU doktor knows baby team secrets. We make him tell us."

"Mm mhh mpfh hmmh mhh Mmphph."

"Da. That, also."

There was a pause, and then the Sniper finally spoke up. "Not a bad idea, mate. All in favor?"

The Scout was outvoted.

* * *

The walk to their base was mostly uneventful. The REDs sent their Engineer ahead to rig up a proper holding cell, and the Scout had sprinted off as well, presumably to sulk. The rest trooped back together, boxing him in without getting close enough that he could make a grab for a weapon. Not that he was planning on it. He had an honest opinion on his own ability to use conventional guns---that is, he failed miserably at it. Not to mention, his enemies abiding by the cease fire was the only reason he was still alive. _He_ was not going to be the one to break it. He felt fairly certain he could out run them, however, if he could just find some sort of cover so they couldn't gun him down. They'd confiscated his weapons, so he'd have to leave them behind. That would be tricky to explain to his team when he got back, but he'd rather be insulted and berated by his team mates than by his enemies. He could threaten his team mates with bodily harm if they didn't stop pestering him---his enemies might just take him seriously if he tried the same tactic with them.

When they came around a bend and passed the mouth of a tunnel that looked like it would get him back to BLU territory, it was like a godsend. The Medic lunged between the RED Sniper and the Heavy, heading for freedom. Unfortunately, at least one of the REDs had been expecting a move like this. The Sniper stuck out one of his long skinny legs and tried to hook the Medic's feet out from under him. A quick dodge to the left let him avoid this fate, but it also backed him right into the Heavy's reach. A fact he realized when a heavy hand landed on the back of his neck, and lifted him clear off his feet by the collar of his uniform. An enormous finger was waved admonishingly in his face. "No. Bad doktor."

Someone snickered.

_Zhis is humiliating. _"Schweinehund! Put me down zhis instant!"

The Heavy complied, dropping him back down in the center of the group once more. Infuriated, the Medic straightened his collar and grumbled, "Klugscheißer."

The rest of the trip passed with considerably more joking at his expense, and no further opportunities for escape.

* * *

The "cell" turned out to be an unused office/observation room off in one corner of the base. It had a long window of bullet proof glass running for most of its length. The RED Engineer had thoroughly reinforced the door---which the Medic thought was flattering (end sarcasim) but unnecessary---and installed a bunk, a sink and a toilet. There were signs that he'd also removed some sort of shelf or desk from the wall, directly under the window. The REDs shut him in and then, surprisingly enough, left him alone.

He sat down on the bunk and heaved a sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. This whole mess was giving him a headache. _At least zhey finally left_.

A match flared, and the RED Spy decloaked and lit his cigarette in the same movement. When the Medic stifled a surprised yelp, the Spy wordlessly offered him a cigarette from his open case. Taking a few deep breaths to stop his heart from trying to leap out of his chest, the Medic growled, "Nein."

The Spy shrugged and stowed the case away. He leaned against the closed door, looking completely relaxed, as if he'd just come to enjoy a nice smoke.

The Medic eyed him suspiciously.

"You are expecting," the Spy suggested, conversationally, "Zat zis is where I say 'You will me what I want to know.' And zen _you_, of course, say-" He adopted a flawless impression of the German's accent, "-'I vill tell you nothing!' To which _I _reply-" He put on a mock-scowl, "-'We have ways of making you talk!'" He paused and took another drag of his cigarette, before gesturing with it. "Zat is unbearably cliche. Non, I think we will try somezing else."

_Vhat is he playing at?_ Well, he'd had enough of being ridiculed and toyed with. Whatever the Spy was trying, he wasn't going to rise to the bait. Folding his arms, he leaned back against the wall and kept his mouth shut.

"How do you like my colleagues?" The Spy indicated the rest of the RED base, and its unseen occupants, with a wave of his hand. The Spy's tone was casual, almost conversational.

"Zhey are _schweinehunds_," he snapped. The RED smiled, and he cursed himself. _Vhat happened to saying nothing? Dummkopf! _

"Oui," the Spy agreed. "However, zey do have some redeeming qualities."

The Medic _hmmphed_, in a way that conveyed the depth of his skepticism.

"Scout, for instance. He is hotheaded and annoying-"

"Zhose are _redeeming_ qualities?" The Medic muttered.

The Spy smirked, but continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "But he doesn't hesitate to stick his neck out for ze rest of us. He is very good at being a distraction."

"I vould believe zhat," he retorted, dryly. "He is obnoxious enough."

"I have never met a Scout zat wasn't," the Spy smirked. "It seems to come with ze job."

"Hmph. Ours could give yours a run for his money. He _never_ stops talk-" He caught himself, snapping his mouth shut on the word. Was he actually _volunteering information_? Nevermind that it was trivial---how did he go from being determined to keep his mouth shut to _chatting_ with the damn Spy? He glanced at the RED and realized his interrogator was watching him with what looked like amusement on what he could see of the man's face. "Zhat was a very good," he admitted, grudgingly.

The Spy gave a little bow, modestly. "You get points for noticing, Doctor. I suppose I will have to try anuzzer tactic... What are ze BLUs planning?"

The Medic quirked a brow. "Ve have plans?"

"Surely you must have _some_ sort of strategy."

He shrugged, carefully. "I am too busy trying to keep zhe idiots alive to vorry about zheir tactics."

The Spy indicated with an arched brow that he considered this unlikely. The Medic, in return, suggested with the determined set of his jaw that _Zhat's my story, und I am sticking to it. _The other man frowned slightly, then settled back, taking a drag from his cigarette again. For a minute or so, neither of them spoke, the Medic watching the Spy warily and the Spy apparently contemplating his cigarette. Then he flicked the ashes from the end of it and straightened up. "Why did you heal me?"

Puzzled by this sudden change of track, he asked "Vhat?" before fully understanding the question. There was a change in the RED's tone. Almost... accusatory. Which was unfair. It wasn't like he'd stabbed the Spy in the back. Practically the reverse. _Vhat is zhis?_

"You knew I was a RED in disguise."

"Vhat? I didn't-"

"You guessed," The Spy interrupted, dismissively. He had started to pace. "Suspected. But you healed me anyway. Why?"

"I don't know. I-"

There was a gun at his head before he could blink. He hadn't even seen the Spy move.

"I _don't-_"

A gloved thumb pulled the hammer back with a very eloquent _click_. "Give it some thought," the other man suggested, quietly. He shut his mouth, and took the suggestion.

It was amazing how having a large, glittering revolver pointed at one's head helped one focus. After those first few moments of panic, all of your thoughts suddenly banded together for a common cause. Admittedly, that cause was _how to stop having a gun pointed at your head_, but in this case, the solution was to just answer the damn question. Why _did_ he heal the Spy? _Had_ he known? It was hard to be sure, looking back. Knowing that the person you were healing might turn out to be one of the enemy in disguise was... well, it was practically part of the job. But usually there were some signs. This time, it had just been a gut feeling.

Which was pretty reliable, come to that...

He'd known, he realized. But he hadn't been _sure_. And you had to be sure, if you were going to just leave someone bleeding to death in the dirt. You gave them the benefit of the doubt, healed them, and then watched your back, because...

"It vas my job."

"_Hmph_. To heal an enemy Spy?" The Spy's tone wasn't encouraging, but at least he hadn't shot him. Yet.

"I suspected," He admitted, "But I could have been wrong." It was difficult to keep his tone calm, but he did the best he could. If he was about to be shot for giving a wrong answer, he'd prefer to die without sounding pathetic.

"You weren't."

"But I could have been."

The Spy scowled, and for a moment the Medic thought he would pull the trigger. Then he uncocked the gun, slipped it back into his suit, and carefully straightened his tie. "Well, Doctor. I'm glad we could have zis little chat." With that, he walked to the door, opened it, and closed it carefully behind him. There was a sturdy click as it locked.

Which meant it had been unlocked the whole time. Which meant the REDs had known the Spy was in here, and _that's_ why they had all cleared out. And they had done so without a word of planning ahead of time. It was a little unnerving.

That, or they were just all idiots.


	3. In which there are Sandviches

Author's Note: Ooh, hey, figured I should actually stop 'n' chat for a sec. Thanks for the reviews, first off! :) And don't worry about whether or not I'm continuing with this story... I've actually got much more than this written, but since I have not actually finished quite yet, I'd rather give you folks regular-ish updates than dump the whole thing on you and go "okay, now wait for me to finish."

Anyway, enjoy :)

* * *

If he had been anyone else, someone with the pitiful level of refinement and self control bestowed upon mere mortals, the manner in which he'd left his little Q&A session with the BLU Medic would have been called "storming off." He, of course, would never do something so undignified. But he was distinctly glad none of his teammates were there to witness his departure, so he wouldn't be obliged to remind them of that fact.

He wanted to beat his head against a wall. What the hell was wrong with him? Asking such a _stupid_, unprofessional question. And in such a way that it emphasized the question's irrational importance to him! _Idiot! Imbecile! _Why did the "why" _matter_, anyway? And this idiotic notion that the Medic's welfare was somehow his concern, just because of one service rendered... it was nonsense! Everything he'd learned, all of his training, told him he should have just shot the BLU in the drainpipe and been done with it. But his instincts were insisting that this would be tragic, an inexcusable waste. Why?! _What ze hell is wrong with me?!_

Realizing he was close to grinding his teeth in frustration, he got a grip on himself. He needed to think about this, calmly and rationally. To do that, he had to find some place where he wouldn't be bothered. Quickly running over his teammates' normal post-battle activities, and their usual locations, he settled on the only possible choice, and headed for the kitchen. It was occupied, but that was the point.

The team's Heavy Weapon's Guy was making his usual victory "Sandvich," and was too engrossed in this process to pay any attention to the Spy. And, as per usual, he was singing as he did so. Several octaves lower than the song normally was sung, and with much enthusiasm. Typically, the rest of the REDs were quick to vacate the premises when the Heavy started singing. Their Spy, on the other hand, had realized this, and subsequently taught himself to tune the big guy out. Now he had a refuge where he wouldn't be disturbed, no matter how transitory.

Settling into a seat at the table, a respectable distance away from Sasha (the Heavy's minigun), the Spy snapped open his cigarette case and selected another for himself. Unfortunately, before he could start to introspect, the Heavy put the finishing touches on his Sandvich, slid it onto a plate, and turned away from the counter, his singing turning into a cheerful hum. Which died, abruptly, when the big man noticed the Spy. The Heavy glanced at the door, and then, radiating guilt, came over to sit at the table. He plunked the plate down on the table in front of him, but didn't immediately start eating, as he normally would.

The Spy was suddenly siezed with curiousity.

"So. What did leetle doktor have to say?" The question was obviously meant to sound nonchalant. The Spy could tell, because the Heavy might as well have been waving his arms and yelling "I'M BEING NONCHALANT."

"Not much," he replied, with a _much _more beliveable imitation of nonchalance, and added, "Yet."

"Ah." There were a few moments of very awkward silence, as the Heavy fiddled with the plate, and the Spy pretended not to notice. "Uh," the weapon's specialist cleared his throat, and then asked, innocently, "What do you think of leetle doktor?"

The Spy added this to the pieces of the puzzle he was already collecting. He wasn't eating his Sandvich, and he obviously had planned to take it elsewhere. And it couldn't be somewhere innocent, like his quarters, because then he wouldn't be looking so _guilty._ And now, all these "nonchalant" questions about the doctor.

Realization dawned. _"We should keep him", indeed. _The Heavy, _their_ Heavy, was being _subtle_. Well, subtle-ish. And he thought he knew why. The three most important things in a Heavy's line of work were his gun, his Sandvich, and his Medic---not necessarily in that order. After all, an Engineer's dispensers were all well and good, but with a Medic watching his back, a smart Heavy could be unstoppable. Unfortunately, RED Command had already denied their team's request for a Medic. It would be too expensive to commission and train a new Medic and there were no veterans available for transfer, they said. There was no point wasting resources when this team was already winning without one, they said. _ I bet zey wont mind if we steal one..._

The puzzle that had been nagging at him suddenly unraveled. _This_ was what he could do about the Medic. Infact, this was probably what his instincts were suggesting he do all along, except he'd been too confused by the situation to see it. The Medic was decent company, competant, with a healthy sense of self preservation, balanced out by either duty or altrusim (or a measure of both?). _We could do a lot worse._

"I think," the Spy answered, slowly, savoring the idea---and the thought of all the delicate manipulations carrying it out would require, "zat he would fit right in."

"Eh?" the Heavy looked puzzled, but the Spy was not deterred.

"Its a good idea."

It was like a lightbulb went on. A slow grin spread over the Heavy's face, and then he laughed. "You think so?" The Spy nodded, slighty. The Heavy beamed at him. Then his face fell again, and he admitted, "I do not think the others will agree."

"Zey will come around," the Spy replied confidantly, and then decided he'd probably better spell it out, just incase his companion couldn't read the subtext, "Leave zat to me."

"Good!" If they'd been on the same side of the table, the Spy thought the Heavy might have clapped him on the back. It was just as well they weren't; he _liked_ his spine, thank you very much. He wanted to keep it in one piece.

The Heavy stood, and picked up the plate. "I bring Sandvich to leetle doktor," He announced, but then glanced at Sasha, obviously concerned how he would carry her _and_ the plate.

"I will keep an eye on her," the Spy promised, adding, when the Heavy didn't look convinced, "No one will touch her."

"Hmm." After a moment, the Heavy leaned over and gave the minigun a fond caress. "Do not worry. I come back soon." Turning back to the Spy, he added, pointing a meaty finger to emphasize his words, "Do. Not. Touch."

The Spy solomnly crossed his heart with the hand that wasn't holding his cigarette. With one more farewell pat for his gun, the Heavy picked up the plate and strode purposefully out of the kitchen.

As he sat back to scheme, he recalled, with some amusement, that some people liked to insinuate that the relationship between Heavy and Medic was more than strictly professional, wink wink, nudge nudge. Though he couldn't speak for every Medic-Heavy team, he personally doubted it. Nothing could possibly replace Sasha in the big man's affections.

* * *

He'd just shut his eyes to try and get some sleep when someone attempted to break his door down with a sledge hammer. "Doktor!" a big, cheerful voice boomed, as the Medic scrambled to his feet, and realized it was just someone knocking. _Knocking_. "I am coming in!"

"Vhy bother knocking?" he muttered. "Its locked on _your_ side..."

His "guest" didn't seem to hear him. The steel door opened, and the Medic finally got a good look at the RED's Heavy. He knew they were typically big and sturdy, but he'd never had the chance to work with one before---he hadn't realized how big "big" was. The man was a _mountain_. A small mountain, perhaps, but still. He had to duck to get through the doorway, and turn himself slightly sideways. He was currently unarmed, but the Medic felt fairly sure the Heavy could just pick him up and snap him in half, if he wanted to. This made him more uneasy than he would have liked. Since the "civil" method of interrogation failed, were they trying the "punch him until intel comes out" strategy?

"Hello. I am team's Heavy Weapons Guy," the Heavy announced, unnecessarily. "You have nice chat with team's Spy?"

"...Yes?" he managed, taking an involuntary step away from the Heavy. Unfortunately, his bunk was in the way, so he didn't get very far. The other man didn't seem to notice.

"Good! You hungry?"

"I-... vhat?" A plate with a rather large sandwich on it was suddenly thrust under his nose. He gaped at it for a moment or two before the whole thing finally sank in. Hurriedly, he tried to get ahold of himself. "Nein," he said, firmly, "I'm not-"

His stomach took that moment to growl. Loudly. _Stupid, traitorous organ! _

To the Heavy's credit, the big man didn't laugh. The plate was offered again, encouragingly. The sandwich looked delicious: Fresh lettuce and tomato, thinly sliced meat, garnished with two green olives. The Medic clung to his stubborn refusal for a second more, than stifled a sigh and selected one of the halves. Grudgingly, he took a bite.

It was _divine_.

He hadn't eaten since before the battle, this morning. In between, he'd been nearly killed on multiple occasions, held at gun (and flamethrower) point, screamed at, ridiculed, and interrogated. The sandwich was the best thing that happened to him all day. _No_, he decided, taking another bite. _All month._

Not that this changed anything. He was still on enemy territory, and he wasn't about to lower his guard just because someone had given him a sandwich. A really good sandwich.

A really, really, _really_ good sandwich.

Suddenly, he noticed the Heavy was watching him eat, with an expression that teetered between hopeful and anxious, and his resolve cracked. He couldn't be hostile at that expression---it'd be like kicking a puppy. That was seven feet tall and snap him in half like a twig. And had just given him a sandwich. _I suppose it couldn't hurt much to be a _little_ friendly. _ _He could have let me starve, after all._

So, in between bites, he grudgingly admitted, "Zhis is-" _Heavenly_ "-very good."

Judging by the Heavy's expression, this was just the right thing to say.

* * *

The RED team's Heavy wasn't made for subtle manipulation, but he was clever enough to realize that there were _some_ situations where the direct approach would be unwise. This one, for example. The matter was fairly clear cut, as far as he was concerned. The REDs wanted a Medic, and didn't have one. The BLUs did. Now they'd captured the BLU Medic. They should keep him. They captured other things from the BLUs after all, like intelligence and territory, and kept _those_. It was all perfectly logical.

Of course, he had a feeling the Medic wouldn't see it that way. Neither would his teammates. This was a definite problem.

Only, now he had the Spy on his side. This meant all he had to worry about was making friends with the Medic, and helping him to realize what a good idea it'd be to join the REDs. This was already off to a good start: He'd brought the Medic a Sandvich, the Medic seemed to like it... but he wasn't sure where to go from here. There had to be more steps between "Here, have Sandvich" to "So. You join our team now. Yes?" He had to be subtle.

"BLU team..." he started, and realized he was already treading on dangerous territory. The Medic had frowned, and was now glaring at him suspiciously.

Damn. Subtle was _hard_.

Alright, alright, he could fix this. He just had to think.

What would Spy do?

Clearing his throat, he tried again, "You... have television over at leetle base?"

Now the Medic looked confused, but at least he wasn't glaring anymore. "Yes," he answered, cautiously, expecting a trick.

Not deterred by his companion's caution, and enthused that he had stumbled upon a safe topic of conversation, the Heavy pressed the attack. "You watch tv show, called _Bonanza_?"

Completely off guard now, the Medic stammered, obviously trying to figure out how this was _relevant_. "Vhat? I... Nein. I do not vatch much-"

"Ah, too bad! It is very good show. About man named Ben Cartwright and his three sons, living on big ranch in American 'Wild West.' The sons," the big man chuckled, "they are always getting into so much trouble. It is very funny!"

The other man seemed to be at a loss for words. After a moment of awkward silence, just as the Heavy was about to take pity on him and try to find something else to talk about, the Medic cleared his throat. Then, with some resignation, he suggested, "Perhaps you could... tell me more about it?"

He didn't have to ask twice. "You want I should tell you one of the stories?"

The Medic picked up the second half of the Sandvich, took a bite, and then nodded. He didn't look terribly enthusiastic, but the Heavy wasn't worried. Without need for further encouragement, he launched into a re-telling of one of the most recent episodes he'd watched.

It wasn't long until the Medic actually looked interested.


	4. Surprises!

A/N: *ahemhem*

Disclaimer: I do not own Team Fortress 2, obviously. Some of the characters are just renting space in my brain.

* * *

Things were not going quite so well on the Spy's side of things. His scheming session was cut woefully short by a summons from RED Command. Despite the fact the team preferred a more democratic method of running themselves, officially he was their "leader." Which, more or less, just meant he was the one who got to deal with the bureaucrats in charge. Of course, there were downsides to the job, too, like _constant interruptions_ but... nevertheless. It kept him entertained enough.

With a dramatic sigh, he exited the kitchen and made his way down the hall. He wasn't particularly worried about leaving Sasha "unguarded." No one was stupid enough to touch the gun and face the Heavy's wrath. Besides, when the Boss called, it was expected that you'd drop everything and run. It really was a nuisance, but, in general, a tolerable one.

The Briefing Room was empty, except for a desk with a speaker set on top of it, and an empty armchair. The room itself was dimly lit, with only the desk and the area in front of it where employees were expected to stand getting any kind of proper illumination. The effect was meant to be off putting, but the Spy found it rather quaint. It was hard not to be condescending to people who had to try so hard to be mysterious, but they were the ones signing his checks, so he managed to resist.

"Congradulations appear to be in order," a woman's voice informed him as he positioned himself in front of the desk. There was no obvious way for the Announcer to see him enter, but he didn't have to go looking for hidden cameras to know they were there. "Your team has managed to capture another Control Point," the voice continued, stating more of the blindlingly obvious. "If things continue to go well, we will have run the Builders League out of the area completely."

He made a modest little bow. "I don't anticipate zey will give us much trouble."

"I should hope not," the Announcer replied, primly. Then she continued her exposition dump, with an utter lack of enthusiasm. "The Builders are demanding three days of downtime to recuperate their losses, as per Article Six, Section Twelve of the Regulations of Private Warfare. We have agreed that this is acceptable."

_Good. _ That would give him more time to talk his comrades around. Depending on how much luck the Heavy Weapons Guy was having, they might even be able to convince the Medic to switch sides in that time.

"During this time, we will also be entering into negotiations with the Builders League to discuss the terms under which we will return their Medic."

_Wait, what?_ He carefully kept the surprise and dismay from his expression, but inside he was cursing. Of course they would know about the Medic _before_ he chose to inform them. They probably had cameras everywhere outside the bases. Possibly even in them, for that matter. Why hadn't he expected this? And how was he going to salvage the situation?

The Announcer carried on, oblivious to her underling's mental turmoil. "We expect a substantial sum will be arranged as ransom, due to the importance of such a unit's skills to their team."

_Damn, damn, damn. _ Well, that cinched it. If the BLUs accepted the terms, there would be no getting out of it. You didn't get in between the Reliable Excavation & Demolition's Board of Directors and a "substantial sum" of money. If his plan was to succeed, he'd just have to hope the BLUs' Board of Directors were just as stingy as his were. But if they wanted to win back their lost territory, a Medic would be very useful. He needed more information on how the BLU Command operated, so he could predict the most likely outcome. _And I know just how to get it._

"Do you have any requests to make?" the disembodied voice of his employer inquired, in a tone that suggested he'd better not have any.

"Non," he replied, outwardly calm. "I will inform the team zat we will have some extra time in which to prepare for ze next engagement."

"Very well. You are dismissed."

He bowed, turned on his heel, and left the room, carefully shutting the door behind him. And then stormed off down the hall, heading towards his quarters. He couldn't be assured privacy there, but it had a door he could slam on the way in. Hopefully no one would be around to notice.

* * *

He hadn't expected the RED Heavy to be any kind of story teller. Until suddenly the story was coming to an end half an hour later, and he realized he'd long since finished the heavenly sandwich without even noticing it. As the big man picked up the empty plate and said goodbye, the Medic was horrified to realize he was actually disappointed that the RED was leaving. That he actually _liked_ this big man, who could tell entertaining stories about cowboys and make delicious sandwiches, and had been trying to kill him only that morning.

This had to be some kind of insidious mind control technique. It was the only explaination. Because there was no possible way that he was in his right mind. He was on the BLU team. He was _not_ going to make friends with one of the REDs. It was hard enough, worrying about the schweinehunds on his own team, and he didn't even _like_ them half the time. Healing them so that they could go kill someone he did actually like was not a situation he ever wanted to be in.

Of course, that was assuming he got out of this alive.

_All right. Zhat is enough of zhat. _ Giving himself a mental shake, he added, _Zhe BLU team needs a Medic. Zhey will try to get me back. Probably._

He couldn't honestly say he had much faith in BLU Command. Or any, come to think of it. He was still a valuable member of the team, but it was team that had been pathetically failing at every mission it had been assigned. In his opinion, this had as more to do with their inability to arrange a proper team than the any of the abilities of the individual members, but no one was going to try telling Command that.

With his luck, they'd leave him here to rot, and hire another damned Sniper instead.

_Vell, zhis is not very helpful._ He sighed and stretched out on the bunk, folding his hands over his stomach. _I vonder who made it._ The Spies, certainly. Spies were always the last to go, unless they were stupid. He considered this for a moment, then made a quick revision. _One_ of the Spies had almost certainly survived. The other had probably managed to stab himself in the back, somehow. Likewise, he was sure at least one of the Snipers had survived. _That_ one insisted on using some fancy bow and and arrows instead of the usual rifle, but he was surprisingly good at it. Whether the other one survived was anyone's guess. He'd seemed green, but potentially competant, if he lived long enough to prove himself. As for the Scout and the Pyro, he gave them about even odds of survival. Slightly worse, now that he wasn't around.

He felt the famliar twinge of worry start creeping back, now that he didn't have anything to distract him from it. What were they going to do without him? _Get zhemselves killed, zhat's what._ He didn't care. He really, really didn't care, and perhaps if he kept telling himself that, he'd eventually believe it.

When he'd first got into this business, he'd been full of optimistic ideas about how he was going to do some good in this stupid, pointless war. Maybe they were being lead by soulless, shadowy buisnessmen, but that didn't mean the people doing the fighting deserved to die. He couldn't win the war, he couldn't save them all, but he could save the ones in front of him. Or so he'd thought. Until he discovered it was a little more difficult than just pointing your Medigun at someone and clicking "on." It only healed so fast, and if the stupid idiot you were healing suddenly decided he was invincible and stepped on a sticky bomb, or in front of a Sentry Gun, you'd be lucky if there were still pieces you could stick back together. And it only worked one at a time, which meant if things went sour real fast, you had people yelling for you from all directions, and there was no way to get to them all in time. And it could heal enemy Spies, so you had to always, _always_ watch for signs that your "patient" wasn't who he appeared to be. Then, if he _wasn't_, you had to open his throat with your bonesaw before he stuck a blade in your back. Sometimes, you had to do it while he was still disguised as your friend.

The enemy team would aim for you, first, so you'd better know how to dodge for cover. And you're teammates took you for granted. You were a mobile dispenser, except you didn't hand out ammo, as well. Snipers didn't need you, you'd blow a Spy's cover if you weren't careful...

He would have liked to think his optamism had lasted through a few battles, at least, but honestly he couldn't remember anymore. Now, he just did the job, as best he could, and tried not to die. Which wasn't going so well, what with being captured by his enemies. Who actually _acted_ like a team, instead of just a handful of individuals wearing the same color. With their likeable Heavy, and the Spy who was surprisingly friendly, when he wasn't holding a gun to your head.

_Verdammt. _ Maybe the Scout or the Soldier would come by to taunt their new prisoner, and he could remind himself why he hated them so much.

_Or maybe I should just get some sleep..._

That sounded preferable. But only just.

* * *

Morning was not much of an improvement. He woke, once again, to the sound of the cell door being unlocked and his body reflexively hauling itself up into a sitting position without waiting for his brain's input. With a groan, he scrubbed a hand over his face and adjusted his glasses, before finally cracking an eye open specifically to glare at the intruder. "You. Vhat do you vant _now_?"

The Spy didn't immediately wither and die under the force of his glare. On the contrary, he looked rather amused. "Not a morning person, Doctor?"

"_Fahr zur Hölle,_" the Medic suggested, through gritted teeth.

"Now, is zat nice?" The Spy lounged against the door frame, fishing for another cigarette. "I just came to bring you ze good news."

He jumped to the obvious conclusion. _Scheiß_. _ Ve couldn't have lost already, could ve? _Setting his jaw, he waited for the inevitable gloating to begin.

"My 'superiors'-" He could practically hear the quotes dropped around the word "-are inclined to ransom you back to ze BLUs. Zey have probably already begun ze negotiations."

The Medic blinked. _Really? Well. Zhat's a nice surprise._ Still... He eyed the Spy, suspiciously. "Vhy are you telling me zhis?"

The Spy shrugged a shoulder, casually. "I thought you would like to know."

"And now I do." _So go avay._

"You don't sound particularly enthusiastic about it," the Spy pointed out, mildly. He took a drag from his cigarette, and added, "You don't believe zey will take our offer?"

_Not vith my luck. _ "I don't trust zhe REDs to ask for somezhing reasonable in exchange."

The Spy made a dismissive gesture. "I don't zink you have to worry about zat... my employers are smart about money, if nothing else."

The Medic frowned at him. There was something off about this. Probably because it was the _RED Spy_ doing the talking. "Vhy are you really telling me zhis?"

This time

the Spy didn't look surprised that he wasn't buying it. However, the RED was still sticking to his story. "I told you: I just thought you'd want know."

"_Blödsinn_," the Medic retorted, flatly. "You vant somezhing."

The Spy smirked in amusement at the curse, then spread his hands, disarmingly. "Is it really zat hard to believe?"

"_Yes_," he growled. "Ve are _enemies_, I am your _prisoner_. You don't have any reason to help me."

"Besides ze fact you saved my life," the Spy pointed out, mildly.

He blinked. _Oh. Right. _ He blinked again. _Zhat. _To be perfectly honest, he had completely forgotton. Not the act, considering the consequences of it had landed him _here_, but the implications. After all, he did that every day, and the most he got from his patients was a "Thanks, Doc!" before they ran off to try and get killed again. _He'd_ taken it for granted, and now this Spy was getting all sincerely grateful at him? _No. No no no, don't be stupid. Zhis is just anuzzer trick. He just vants me to drop my guard. _

But before he could regain his composure, the Spy gave him a look of what _appeared_ to be genuine surprise. "Is it zat surprising, zat I might be grateful?" he asked, gently.

The Medic drew himself up, suddenly furious. All right, so maybe his teammates didn't appriciate him and his job was a thankless one and his team was, frankly, pathetic, but he hadn't been complaining (much), and he didn't need the REDs to come and shove his face in it. And he _certainly_ didn't need this doubletalking, sneaky bastard's _pity_.

Then he bit back his anger. He also didn't need to play right into the Spy's hands, and letting the RED infuriate him would do just that. Taking a deep breath, he retorted, "Vhat vas zhere to be grateful for? I zhought you vhere on my team."

The Spy arched a brow. "Do we _really_ have to go over zat again?" He inquired, dryly.

"Oh, I don't know," he retorted before he could stop himself. "I don't zhink I've had enough guns pointed at my head lately. I zhought I might try und break zhe record."

The other man blinked at him. Then, suddenly, he started to laugh.

"I'm glad _someone_ zhinks zhis is funny," the Medic grumbled.

The Spy was actually clutching his sides, he was laughing so hard. The Medic folded his arms, and waited for the man to get ahold of himself, which he did, a few moments later. Still chuckling, the RED grinned at him. "I zink I like you, Doctor. So, I'm going to let you in on a little secret."

He was instantly and deeply suspicious.

Taking a drag from his cigarette, the Spy obviously noticed his expression, and was just as obviously amused by it, but carried on regardless. "I," he revealed, somewhat smugly, "am going to make sure you get out of zis mess, alive."

The Medic stared at him. _Alright. Now I am really confused._ If this was some sort of trick, he really couldn't see what the Spy was going to get out of it. Not that he'd ever been able to figure out what the other man was up to. To be perfectly honest, if the RED wasn't a Spy, he probably would have just taken him at face value to begin with. Maybe he was thinking too hard about this. Maybe the Spy _wasn't_ up to someth- _Oh, vhat am I zhinking, of course he is. He's a Spy._ But, it might not hurt to grudgingly play along for awhile. At least it wouldn't give him as much of a headache.

"I don't zhink your team mates will make zhat easy," he pointed out, cautiously.

"Unless ze BLU team accepts our ransom demands," the RED replied, smoothly. "Ze decision comes from higher up, zey would not be able to do anyzing about it."

"Oh." He'd forgotton about that. That would make things much simpler. "Do you zhink zhat is likely to happen?"

The Spy quirked a brow. "Do _you_? You would know ze BLU Command better zen I would. If ze terms are reasonable, do you zink zey would take zem?"

"I... am not sure. Somezhing like zhis hasn't happened on my team before." He tried to honestly think about it. His complete lack of faith with them nonwithstanding, _would_ they ransom him back? Probably, if it was cheaper than hiring a new Medic. Or if they were worried he had secrets about BLU to tell, which didn't seem likely. "I don't zhink I'd stake my life on it." _Vhich is vhat we'd be doing, if he's telling zhe truth._

To his surprise, he thought he detected a glint of triumph in the Spy's expression, but it was gone before he could be sure. "Don't worry. If that doesn't work, I have other plans."

"Ah." He wasn't quite sure what to say to that. It was... strange to think that someone else was trying to watch his back, even if it _was_ just some elaborate scheme to get him to do whatever the Spy wanted. "...Zhank you."

"_Prego_, Doctor." The RED tapped ash off of the end of his cigarette, then added, "I should be going. Unless zere is anyzing else?"

He thought briefly about asking for another one of the Heavy's sandwiches, but then decided, "Nein."

With a brief nod and a casual wave, the Spy turned and left, locking the door behind him. Leaving the Medic to sit and stare at the closed door, wondering what the hell had just happened.


	5. Breakfast

A/N: Hooray for new Netbooks! Hooray for internet access! And especially hooray, for having a word processor besides Wordpad!

Anyway, still don't own Team Fortress 2, and I really doubt I ever, ever will. Also, these chapters keep getting longer... I will pretend I'm doing it on purpose.

* * *

He'd managed to wipe the smug grin off of his face by the time he reached the kitchen, where the rest of the team was gathered for breakfast. Typically, the first post-battle breakfast doubled as a "briefing" session, if only because sooner or later someone would ask him what the Bosses had to say, and he would pass on all of the bits he deemed important. As a result, nobody missed the first breakfast after a battle, even if it was earlier than some would have liked.

"'Bout freakin' time," the Scout groaned at him, as the Spy picked up a plate and slid into a seat at the table. "If you're gonna sleep in, you could at least let th' rest've us know," he continued, apparently more for the sake of complaining than an actual desire for a response, as the Spy was making a point to ignore him. He let his forehead thunk down onto the table before continuing to grumble into it. "S'not like you need your friggin' beauty sleep, ya wear that dumb mask over your ugly mug all th' time."

The Sniper took a sip from his coffee mug (decaf, of course), and then set it down on the table. The Spy knew that, unlike the Scout, he'd been up since dawn. Normally, he would have been content to just sit and savor his coffee, but apparently the Scout's grousing was irritating him. He was the first to bite. "So, mate, what'd our Fearless Leaders 'ave to say?"

The Pyro turned away from the stove. The Engineer folded up his paper, turning to look at the Spy, expectantly. The Soldier stopped scowling at his breakfast like it was a line of green recruits on their first day of boot camp, and sat at attention. The Scout stopped whining, but didn't lift his head from the table. The Heavy kept eating.

The Spy continued to carefully cut his meal into bite sized pieces. "We will have three days of downtime while ze BLUs recoup zeir losses."

"Halle-frickin'-lujah," the Scout interjected.

"We should probably use at least one day to plan our next attack," the Spy continued, still ignoring him.

"Why? Those knuckleheads couldn't fight their way outta a wet paper bag. We'll just cream 'em, like we always do."

"Maggot! Strategy is a critical component of victory in every mission! As Sun Tzu said-"

"I really don't care."

"-'He will win who, prepared himself, waits to take the enemy unprepared!'"

"What's that even s'posed t' _mean_. D'you ever listen t' yourself? Th' words comin' outta your mouth?"

"'Making no mistakes is what establishes the certainty of victory, for it means conquering an enemy that is already defeated!'"

"For th' love of God... Stop. Talking. _Stoptalking._"

"'Whoever is first in the field and awaits the coming of the enemy, will be fresh for the fight; whoever is second in the field and has to hasten to battle will arrive exhausted!'"

"Son," the Texan drawled, over the Soldier's bellowing, "Wouldja stop encouragin' him?" The Scout, unsurprisingly, ignored him. Leaning forward to he could peer down the table at the Spy, the Engineer asked, "Is this meetin' adjourned, then, or do you got somethin' else to impart? 'Cos I got better things t' do than sit here and listen to these two holler."

The Spy considered what all he should tell them, then nodded, holding up a finger. "Zere is one more zing." Glancing at the Heavy, he added, gesturing towards the Soldier. "If you would be so kind..."

Without looking up from his meal, the Heavy reached over, grabbed the Soldier's helmeted head in one hand and bounced it off the table. His tirade thus interrupted, the Soldier turned to growl insults at the Heavy, but at least these were somewhat quieter. When the Scout started to laugh, the Engineer thwacked him on the back of the head, earning him a dirty look.

"If I have everyone's attention?" The grumbling subsided. "Command plans to ransom ze BLU Medic back to his team."

The Heavy stopped eating, lifting his head to stare at the Spy in open dismay. Fortunately, the Scout's reaction drew more attention. He sat up and yelped "_What_?!" at the top of his lungs. When the Spy's only response was an arched brow that indicated _you heard me_, he slouched back in his chair and sulked. "That friggin' sucks. Lucky sonnvabitch gets off scott free."

"Good!" It was hard to tell if the Soldier actually liked the idea for its own sake, or just because the Scout _didn't_. "We can slaughter that maggot honorably, on the field of battle, _and_ get a mound of cash for giving him back."

"Think they'll give us a cut?" The Sniper inquired, sounding only mildly interested.

"I'll see what I can do," the Spy shrugged, with no qualms about making such a promise, because he was counting on it not actually coming to that.

"Figgered they'd do somethin' like that," the Engineer nodded, finishing his coffee and pushing his chair back.

The Scout unsulked slightly. "Where're you off to, Hard Hat?"

The Texan paused on his way to the door to explain, "Gonna go set up a Sentry and Dispenser out front. Figger somebody might as well keep watch."

He unsulked some more. "For what? We're in th' middle of a cease fire here."

"Welp, I reckon the BLUs might not want to pay ta get their Medic back, if they can just send one've their damned Spies in and rescue 'im."

"Hey, you're right!" From the Scout's expression, it was obvious the Engineer had just made his day. "Y'know what, I think I'll give ya a hand watchin' th' base."

"No, ya really don't hafta-" the Engineer started, hurriedly, but the Scout had already leapt out of his chair and sprinted out of the room. The Engie sighed. "Dag nabbit."

Taking the Engineer and Scout's departure as the signal the unofficial meeting was over, the Pyro stopped playing with the stove, picked up his plate, and left. Soon after, muttering something about "going over their defenses", the Soldier left, as well. Which left just him, the Sniper, and the Heavy. The Heavy was just picking at his food now, his expression one usually reserved for times when, just as he was planning on making a Sandvich, he discovered they were out of bread. He kept glancing mournfully over at the Spy, quite obviously wanting to ask what they were going to do, but just as obviously not wanting to speak up in front of the Sniper.

The Spy was trying to ignore him, hoping the big man would get the hint that he was _not_ being very discreet. So far, the Sniper didn't seem to have noticed. He was staring off into space, pensively, and savoring his mug of decaf. But the Spy knew it couldn't last. Half of the man's profession relied on sitting still for hours, looking for tiny details a long ways off. As a result, he was at least marginally observant.

As if reading his thoughts, the Sniper leaned back in his chair and spoke into the increasingly awkward silence. "You blokes mind telling me what you're up to?"

The Heavy froze, as if caught stealing the Engineer's beer. The Spy continued eating as though the Sniper hadn't spoken, and silently cursed in every language he could think of. For a moment, he regretted that it was his big Russian associate who was his current partner in crime. It would be much simpler to talk his way out of this if the big man wasn't sitting there, looking so obviously guilty. But, the Heavy was useful to have on his side---if not in this particular situation. For the moment, as childish as the tactic was, he decided to take a leaf out of the big man's book and play dumb. "I should zink zat was fairly obvious? We are eating breakfast."

"Very funny." The Sniper smirked slightly at the Spy over his mug, and then nodded at the Heavy, "I wager 'e'll tell me, if you wont."

Flashing the Heavy his best _If you talk, I will stab you in your SLEEP_ glare, he replied, smoothly, "You are imagining zings."

"Mmhm." His opponent glanced up at the big man on his left. "That right, mate?"

The Heavy fidgeted, becoming very interested in the leftovers on his plate. Then he stood and announced, "I think I will bring leetle doktor breakfast. After all, we must keep him alive, if we are to be selling him back, da?"

The Sniper looked bemused, and the Spy smirked quietly. "Zat sounds like a good idea," he agreed, trying to throw in undertones of _I'm not worried_ and _Trust me_ to reassure the Russian, without being too obvious about it.

After the Heavy had collected a plate and left, the Sniper whistled softly. "I'm impressed. 'E usually cracks faster'n that." Turning his attention back to the Spy, he added, "Spill it."

"Zere is nozing-"

"Aw, don't give me that. It was painted all over the big lug's face."

He considered. Playing it straight with the Sniper might be the best route, after all. If he just deflected the Australian's questions, the other man would keep digging, and sooner or later he'd corner the Heavy. Better to just deal with it now, when he could control the details the gunman learned. Still, he disliked the mere thought of revealing his plans, on general principle. "I zink," he carefully admitted, after a few moments of thought, "It would be safe to say he does not like ze idea of giving ze Medic back to ze BLUs."

"'E's still fixed on getting 'team secrets' out of the Medic, then?"

He endeavored to indicate with his expression that this was the wrong answer, and took another bite of his breakfast.

"Then why does 'e care what we do with th' wanker?" The Sniper frowned at him, but it seemed to be more of a rhetorical question. He could practically hear the gears turning. "Why do _you_ care, for that matter?"

This was starting to tread on uncomfortable territory. _I am not doing zis because I "owe" ze Medic anyzing, _he assured himself. _It is for ze good of ze team. However, I cannot have him jumping to unhelpful conclusions._ A nudge in the right direction seemed to be required. "What do you zink of him, from what you've seen?"

The Sniper _hmmm_ed thoughtfully. After a moment, he started thinking aloud, "Out on the field, 'e was careful enough to keep 'is 'ead out of my scope. Bloody nuisance, really. Decent at 'is job, I suppose, so its just as well the rest of 'is team is rubbish." He took another sip of coffee, and mulled over it for a minute. "Kept 'is wits about 'im when we caught 'im, too." Then his thoughtful expression cleared, and he fixed the Spy with a hard look. "Shame 'e's a BLU, really."

The Spy smirked slightly, and agreed, "You might say he's wasted on zem."

Settling back into his chair, the Sniper shook his head. "You sure that's a good idea, mate? He was with the BLUs when we first started scrabbling over this bloody warren. Figure 'e's got to be a bit pissed at us."

He waved a hand, dismissively. "I am confident zat he will come around."

"Right. But, you're not the one who'll 'ave 'im guardin' your back, in the thick of things."

"From what I've seen, he takes his job seriously. If we can convince him to switch sides, I doubt-"

The Sniper held up a hand to forestall any more excuses. "Mate, I'm not the one you've got t' convince. 'E's not going t' be watching _my_ back." Finishing up his coffee, he unfolded his long limbs and stood up. "I don't really give a damn what we do with 'im. But if it comes to a vote, I'm not going against the boys who'll be relying on 'im. Understand?"

_I'll take zat as a "maybe."_ "Of course."

"So, if you want this little scheme of yours t' fly, you've got to talk _them_ around."

He quirked a brow, looking mildly insulted. "Please. I don't tell _you_ how to shoot someone's head off from a mile away, do I?"

The Sniper snorted, and shrugged, "Just making sure you know what you're gettin' into, mate."

"I am overwhelmed by ze trust you put in my abilities," the Spy retorted, dryly.

"Bloody fancy wuss," the Australian shot back, smirking, and with a wave, he stalked out of the kitchen.

* * *

If he assumed the Sniper's vote would be _against_ the Doctor joining, that meant he needed to sway at least two of the others over to his, and the Heavy's, side. He would start with the Engineer, he decided. While it would be preferable to get more of the front liners, they were also the ones that seemed most gung-ho about killing the Medic. Having a healer on the battlefield would eventually win them over, but for now, he'd choose his fights carefully. So, after he'd finished his breakfast, he went in search of the Texan.

Sounds of a Sentry Gun going up led him outside, near their outer control point. The Engineer was perched up on one of the rickety looking platforms that lined the arena, whacking something with his heavy wrench. It looked like he'd have a good view of the area from his perch, as well as decent cover, from some large sheets of metal that were strategically placed for this purpose. The Spy was, tactfully, not going to point out that if the BLUs were sending one of _their_ Spies in to rescue the doctor, they would just sneak up and sap the Sentry, making the whole thing moot. He quickly realized that the Engineer already knew this full well: As he started to climb up the ladder that would get him up to the Engineer's perch, the sound of wrench-whacking stopped. When he reached the top of the ladder, his arrival was greeted by the ominous noise of a shotgun being very purposefully cocked. The Spy arched a brow, his expression clearly saying _You can't be serious. _The Engineer retorted with a suspicious _Son, don't make me shoot you in your stupid face _sort of frown. Obviously, a response such as "Don't shoot, its me" just wasn't going to cut it.

The Spy sighed. "We both joined zis team at ze same time, about a year ago. At our first victory celebration, you tried to out drink ze Heavy Weapons Guy, and ze two of you ended up singing Beatles songs with lamp shades on your heads, until you both passed out on ze table."

"Now hold on just one cotton-pickin' minute-"

"_Which_ you continue to deny, despite ze fact I still have ze pictures."

The Engineer grumbled, "I'm gonna _find_ those one of these days..."

"You also sleep with ze first schematic you ever drew under your pillow. If I remember correctly, it was a jet powered tricy-"

"Alright, alright!" He scowled and set the shotgun down, picking up his wrench again. "Cain't blame a fella for being careful."

Actually, he could, considering his life was the one being threatened by the Engineer's sudden bout of paranoia. Not that he was going to complain, but he'd always known the man to be rather more laid back than this. At least off the battle field. "May I come up, now?"

"Unless you plan on hangin' off that ladder all day." The Engineer turned back to his toolbox and started setting up a Dispenser. "I talked Scout into running a patrol around our new territory, figgered it'd keep him occupied. For a few minutes, anyway."

In the distance, a flash of red sped into sight around one corner and disappeared around the next. The Spy nodded, appreciatively. "If he is hunting Spies all day, zat should keep him happy. And out of our hair."

"Yeup." The Dispenser started up with a hum, as a red, intangible umbilical of health curled out of it to connect to the Engineer. With that in place, he turned his attention to upgrading his sentry gun. "Were you wanting somethin' in particular?"

The Spy pulled out his cigarette case and selected one. "I was wondering what had you so jumpy. Do you know somezing I don't?" Never mind that he hadn't noticed the Engineer's newfound paranoia until just now. It was as good an excuse as any to start up a conversation.

The Texan scowled, "Nah. Just..." He stopped working for a moment, leaning on his Dispenser. "What kinda low down, yellow bellied team has ta have _that_ many Spies?"

"I thought zey just had two?" While he thought having _two_ Spies on a team was completely unnecessary, it didn't seem that extravagant either.

His comrade muttered, "Either they had a whole mess of 'em, or they had one that wouldn't _stay_ dead, th' _bastard_. I'd swear I killed that muther hubbard fifty times, and they were _still_ sappin' my Sentry."

_Ah. _He remembered reading something about a device called _The Dead Ringer_ in the latest _Dapper Rogue: Catalogue for the Gentleman Scoundrel_. It would produce such an effect. He, himself, had opted for the _Cloak and Dagger_, but the latter undoubtedly had its uses, as well. (It was a little ironic to think that he might have avoided this whole escapade, if he'd gone for the _Ringer_ instead. Not that he was regretting it.) _Good to know_. "You said _one_ of zem wouldn't stay dead?"

The Engineer smirked, and patted his sentry fondly. "Yeup."

_Which would mean zey are down _one _Spy. I wonder if zey will commission anuzzer, or try somezing else._ Well, this was proving informative, at least.

"Pretty sure Scout accounted for one of their Snipers, too. He was braggin' about it afterwards, when he stopped by my Dispenser."

There came the sound of running feet on aluminum, two beats of silence, and then a _thump_ as the Scout suddenly landed on the platform next to them. "It was hilarious! The stupid moron never even saw me comin', it was great. I hope they get another just like 'im."

He saw the Engineer glance meaningfully at his shotgun, but then seemed to think better of it. No one but a Scout could have made the jump from the nearest platform to this one. "Done with your patrol already?"

"Heck no." The Scout jogged in place. "Just checkin' in with Hard Hat over here, making sure no BLUs snuck up on 'im while I was gone." He would have sounded more genuinely concerned about his teammate, if there wasn't an unspoken _So I didn't miss out on any of the fun_ tagged onto the end of that sentence. "Man, I hope they do try somethin'. We've been cake-walkin' every battle since we got here. I mean, c'mon! Weren't these BLUs _beating _the guys here before us? I thought they were supposed to be _good_. They friggin' suck!"

"I believe zeir team was decimated almost as badly as ze ozzer RED team was. Zere are only two BLUs over zere now zat were fighting before." The only RED to survive had been a Spy, who had wisely kept his head down once it was obvious things were unsalvageable. RED Command had simply transferred their whole team in, rather than trying to put a new one together around the remaining RED. Apparently the previous Spy had been more than happy to leave.

"Yeah?" From the Scout's tone, he wasn't completely sure what 'decimated' meant, but didn't really care. "Well, they still suck."

The Spy shrugged. He could hardly deny that.

There were a few moments of silence, as they watched the Engineer work. Then, "So, who do ya think they're gonna bring in to replace the dead guys?"

He shrugged again. "If zey are smart, zey'll try something different."

"Yeah, but this is the _BLUs_. I'll bet you anything they just get more Spies 'n' Snipers," the Scout grinned. "Its like they get a deal on 'em if they buy in bulk."

The Engineer glanced up from his work to ask the Spy, "Think they'll have worked out a ransom for their Medic by the time the next fight starts?"

Suddenly curious as to why the Engineer would care, he made a show of thinking it over. "Perhaps. Why?"

"'Cos it'd take a load off," the Texan muttered, "If I didn't hafta worry about that bastard and one of his 'Übers' coming around a corner to smash up all my hard work."

_Well. Zis isn't going at all well. _He hadn't expected the Engineer to have built up quite _this_ much resentment to the BLUs, and especially not the Medic. Since the "Engie" had been in a mostly defensive position in their plans thus far, the Spy had assumed his comrade hadn't seen much, or any, combat thus far. _Obviously I was mistaken. _It was an unfortunate lapse, but an excusable one. After all, he'd been busy trying not to bleed to death for most of the last battle. "I wouldn't worry-"

"Yeah? Well, _I_ would. You've never hadta duck for cover while some ugly invincible BLU turned your baby inta scrap metal." As he spoke, he finished upgrading the 'baby' in question with a nice pair of rocket launchers. It beeped, almost happily, as it panned the area for targets.

"Jeez, Hard Hat. Get a room, would ya?" The Scout obviously had had enough of the conversation, and didn't wait around to hear the Engineer's retort. A few seconds later, he'd disappeared off down the road again. The Texan growled some impolite things about the Scout's parentage, and then glared at the Spy, quite obviously sick of people pestering him while he worked.

It seemed obvious that talking his hard hatted friend around was going to be a bigger job than he'd expected. He decided it was better to retreat and regroup. "Well, I will let you get back to your work," he gestured to the machines, and then made his way back down the ladder, to the Engineer's grumbled "Good_._"

Hopefully the Heavy was having more luck.


	6. News

A/N: I have something of a weakness for cliffhangers, just so your forewarned. I do apologize. Anyway, since this chapter is rather shorter than the others, I'll probably be updating again within the next day or so.

* * *

The Medic was discovering previously unexplored depths of confusion. He felt as though, somewhere along the line, he'd missed the person handing out the script to this little adventure, and now he just had to try and play along until he figured out what the hell was going on.

The Heavy had come back, this time bringing a plate full of eggs and sausage and unfortunately no sandwiches, and wearing an expression like his best friend had just died in his arms. The big man was one step away from dropping to his knees and dramatically shouting "_Nooooooo!_"

At first, he'd been afraid that it was something to do with him. Had something happened since the Spy left? Or, had the other man been lying about the REDs ransoming him back? He certainly wouldn't put it past him. What if they'd decided to forget about the cease fire and just kill him? Was his last meal going to be a plateful of half burnt breakfast?

At last, growing tired of trying to quell his rising panic, he'd tentatively asked, "Ah... Has your team decided vhat zhey are going to do vith me?"

"Yes," the Heavy replied, mournfully. "We are to be selling you back to leetle _baby_ team." His tone suggested that if this wasn't the worst thing in the world, it was close to it.

Relief battled with confusion. The Heavy seemed to like him, if the food and company were anything to go by, so the Medic couldn't understand why the big man would be so depressed that the other REDs _weren't_ just going to kill him. Unless he'd completely misjudged the man, and he was actually some kind of diabolical madman, who enjoyed winning his victim's trust---a battle the Medic had to reluctantly admit the Heavy had already mostly won---before horribly betraying and killing them. This seemed rather implausible: the Medic trusted his instincts over his paranoia just a little more than that. So... "Isn't zhat a good zhing?"

The Heavy looked down at his hands, glumly. "Yes," he said, obviously meaning _No_. Then, he balled his hands into fists and looked up, adding, fiercely, "You should join _our_ team."

The Medic blinked. _Vhat?_ "I- I can't do zhat." He might not be fond of BLU Command, but his _team_ needed him. They might be ungrateful idiots, but he couldn't just abandon them. The thought was ridiculous.

The RED, however, was unconvinced. "Bah. No reason why not."

He could think of several, actually. "I can't just leave mein teammates." The Heavy snorted, his opinion of the other BLUs quite obvious. The Medic tried again, "Besides... _your_ team vants to _kill_ me."

"They have to go through me, first," the Heavy replied, firmly.

The Medic blinked, again. That was... kind of touching, in a _Mein Gott, zhis cannot possibly end vell_ kind of way. Assuming he did get out of here, and back to his team in one piece, he was not going to enjoy the next battle, no matter _what_ happened. "Ah... anyvays, zhey vouldn't let me stay. Zhey are ransoming me back, ja?"

But the big man was determined. "You would join, if _baby_ team does not buy you back, da?"

"I... ah..." Pinned by the Heavy's hopeful expression, the Medic's firm _No_ went off to hide in the corner. _Get a hold of yourself! _He scolded, silently._ Zhis man is not your friend, he is vun of zhe REDs. Zhe enemy. Vun sandvich does not mean anyzhing. _Okay, one sandwich and breakfast. And keeping him company. And not killing or maiming him. _Shut up. Zhis is... completely ridiculous. You are not joining zhe REDs! Now, tell him so, gottverdammt! _Setting his shoulders, he opened his mouth to tell the Heavy that there was no possible way he was ever joining the REDs. Under any circumstances. Never, ever, ever.

* * *

"So, I hear you're planning on switching sides?" It was later. After realizing he was going to make very little headway with the Engineer, he went in search of the Soldier, and ended up talking strategy with him and the Sniper for most of the day. It wasn't until the evening that the Heavy finally hunted him down, which had been somewhat surprising. He'd been sure the big man would have wanted to corner him sooner to demand more details about this whole "ransoming" business. _Then_ the Heavy surprised him again, by announcing, smugly, that he'd convinced the "leetle doktor" to join their team. The Spy had to hear this for himself. There _had_ to be more to it than that, because if the Heavy was having more success at this game than he was, he was going to have to eat his balaclava. From the expression that crossed the Medic's face, however, he didn't have anything to worry about.

There was a short stream of cursing in German, and then the Medic snapped, "_Nein. _I am doing nozhing of zhe sort."

"Supposedly, its what you told our Heavy Weapons Guy."

The Medic groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I did no such zhing." He sighed, and then continued, "I told him zhat _if_ mein own team does not ransom me back, and _if_ zhe trigger happy lunatics you call teammates decided zhey _don't_ vant to kill me, and _if_ I thought my team could stay alive und vell vithout me, _zhen_..." He carefully enunciated the next words, as if tasting them and finding them rather unpleasant. "I vould... _zhink_ about it. _Maybe_."

This was hilarious. He had difficulty keeping the amusement out of his next words. "I'm surprised you did not add 'when pigs fly' to ze list."

"I zhought about it," the Medic replied, rubbing his eyes, and then grudgingly added, "It vould have been like kicking a puppy."

If he didn't have superb control over his expression at all times---any mention of past exceptions were obviously figments of the observer's imagination---he would have laughed. Never, in his entire career, had anyone used the term "puppy" to describe their _Heavy Weapon's Guy_. He was definitely going to have a good chuckle when he got back to his quarters.

Still, he was impressed. The Heavy was doing rather well, though he hadn't accomplished quite as much as he thought he had. Still! Just a few Sandviches, and the BLU Medic was already obviously (if rather grudgingly) fond of him. Perhaps Medics and Heavies were just predisposed to like each other. Certainly their jobs worked well together. Other factors _must_ have been considered.

"So," the Medic sighed and straightened. "If _you_ know, zhen I suppose zhe rest of zhe REDs do, as vell?" He looked apprehensive.

"Non," the Spy assured him, selecting a cigarette. "He came to me first. I explained zat... zis _might_ not be ze best time to suggest it. Zat we would have to talk to our companions first."

"I'm _not_-"

The Spy held up a gloved hand to forestall him. "Yes, but, he doesn't know zat. And at least he is happy, non? I will try to explain zings to him, but perhaps you'd better let zings stand as zey are for now? After all, zis means zere are at least _two_ of us, now, zat don't want you dead."

Relief and caution mingled on the Medic's expression. Obviously, he wasn't completely sure what the Spy was up to, and _knew_ it, as well. Good, that was just the way he wanted it. This side of things was coming along quite nicely, though his team mates were proving troublesome. He supposed he shouldn't be terribly surprised, and besides, he had two more days until the next battle. Now he just needed a contingency plan, in case the BLUs actually decided to-

_"Spy, report to the Briefing room. RED. Spy. __Report to the Briefing room."_

The Medic looked startled at the tinny voice coming out of the Spy's watch. The Spy tried not to look like anything at all. He checked his watch, keyed in an acknowledgement, and then made a little bow to the doctor. "Well, zat's lucky," he lied. "Zat might just be ze BLUs answer. If you'll excuse me?"

He let himself out of the cell and swore silently every step of the way down the hall. _Merde. Maledizione. Dios lo maldiga._

_

* * *

_

"The Builders League United has responded," the Announcer informed him, flatly. As though he needed to be told. There was a blue envelope lying on the desk in front of the speaker, the Builders League logo stamped on the front. Clinging to his air of indifference like a security blanket, he nonchalantly stepped up to the desk and lifted the envelope. It had already been opened, presumably by the RED Board of Directors. Carefully, he slipped a piece of folded blue paper---_Blue? Really? How gauche_---out of it, and set it aside. Lazily, with hands that he was having to work very hard not to let tremble, he unfolded the letter and started to read...


	7. Wrenches

_Dear Sirs and Madam, of the Reliable Excavation & Demolition Board of Directors,_

_We regret that we must decline your generous offer to return our employee, for a small fee. However, due to a serious breach of conduct, we have been forced to _

_terminate our contract with Medic 005106. Due to the nature of the breach, we are legally required to sever any contractual obligations between the Builders _

_League United and the unit in question. Hopefully, this will not adversely effect the conclusion of any similar deals that may be put forward in the future between _

_ourselves and our friendly rivals in Reliable Excavation & Demolition._

_Respectfully yours,_

_Mr. Franz Challen, Office of Resource Management, Builders League United _

The smug sense of triumph that came from reading the first line was rather diluted as he finished the letter. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Certainly, he'd been hoping they'd refuse the offer, but part of him was sure they would have to accept. A Medic was a useful thing to have on the battlefield, and, while they could just train a new one for the money they'd be spending on the ransom, surely experience counted for something? At the very least, he expected them to try and haggle a bit. But no, they were cutting their losses and throwing the Medic to the wolves. It was... impressively ruthless. Not to mention, rather stupid. It certainly wasn't going to do much for morale amongst their troops. Unless, of course, they were trying to make an example of the Medic, in hopes of scaring the current BLU team at Hydro into shaping up and winning for once.

Well, it didn't matter. They'd just handed him an ace. There was nothing standing in his way, now---except for the pesky "opinions" held by his teammates, which would soon be rectified. It was all he could do to keep from cackling maniacally, and the only reason he refrained was because he knew he was being observed.

"This is disappointing," the Announcer announced, icily, "But not unexpected. The Medic is of no further interest to us. You may dispose of him however you see fit."

There was something about the way she said it, that made him wonder if Command knew what he was up to. Then, he decided he might as well assume they did. It didn't matter, so long as they didn't interfere. Regardless, she did bring up an excellent point. If the Medic was no longer recognized by BLU Command as one of their own, the cease fire would no longer apply. It went without saying that he'd have to keep this most recent development to himself, for now. In fact, it was probably best if he didn't even tell the Medic the news just yet. He needed the perfect moment to play this card, and first he'd have to carefully stack the deck.

He folded up the letter and slipped it into the inside pocket of his suit, and tried on a ruthless smile of his own. "My pleasure."

* * *

The second day of the cease fire passed mostly uneventfully for the Medic. The Spy still hadn't come back, but he tried not to worry about that too much. When the Heavy wasn't around to keep him company, he kept his mind occupied by reciting the names of all the parts of all the various systems in the human body, first in German, then in English. Then, when he'd finished with that, he went over the various ways to treat some of the more common injuries on the battlefield, as well as some of the new, more experimental procedures that he was aware of. This was also very useful in helping him ignore the occasions when the RED Scout or Soldier happened to pass by and paused to insult him through the bullet proof glass. Their Pyro also wandered by occasionally, but he never said anything---and thus was harder to ignore. He would stop and just stare, ominously, for a minute or so, before stalking off again.

On the bright side, the Heavy continued to bring him meals, and told him more stories of the Cartwright brothers while he ate. After that confusing breakfast, he'd started leaving the cell door open when he visited, but since he tended to sit partially in the doorway, the Medic decided it was less an issue of trust, and more because it made the narrow corner the door opened into more comfortable to sit in. It did, however, lead to their acquiring something of an audience. He first realized it at dinner on the second day.

"...then sheriff says there will to be no bail set for Candy. He will have to wait for trial, in two, three days. Says he has _long_ list of charges, and will cost Candy five hundred dollars each-"

"What?!" came a yelp from out in the hall, "That's _bullshit_!"

Looking puzzled, the Heavy leaned over to peer through the door. Out of sight, around the corner, there came the sound of running steps, rapidly fading.

The Medic snickered, despite himself.

Straightening back up, the Heavy gave him a conspiratorial grin. "This morning, tiny man tries to ask what time show is on. He tries to be sneaky, with his questioning. It was very amusing. So, I play dumb." He paused and shrugged, modestly, "It was most believable."

_I'll bet. _Putting the Scout's amusing antics firmly out of his mind (he didn't need any reasons to start going "Vell, I suppose he's not so bad..." about a _third_ member of the RED team), he gestured for the Heavy to continue. "So... vhat happened next? Vith zhe cowboys, I mean."

The big man needed no further encouragement.

* * *

On the Spy's side of things, their second day of downtime was also frustratingly uneventful. The Pyro was proving to be elusive, the Scout refused to sit still long enough to have a proper _let me get into your head and start twisting your thoughts_ conversation, and when he approached the Soldier, he nearly got sucked back into strategy talk. Finally, he went off to find somewhere to sit and scheme. With the Heavy otherwise occupied, he settled on finding a quiet corner outside and sitting there, cloaked.

Unfortunately, some people couldn't take a hint.

"Not 'aving much luck, mate?" Suddenly, his quiet, secluded corner was neither. The Sniper leaned against the wall and added, "What's th' point of cloaking if you're going ta smoke those ruddy fags of yours? 'Ardly what I'd call 'inconspicuous.' Seein' little clouds of smoke coming out of nowhere makes a bloke wonder."

"Maybe you could consider it an _implication_," he replied, icily, "zat perhaps I don't wish to be disturbed."

"Could do that, I suppose," The Sniper scratched his chin, as if giving this some serious thought. "Interesting concept."

"Don't you have some 'wankers'-" He fit his mouth around a parody of the Australian accent, "-to shoot from an impossible distance, or somezing?"

"Cease fire, mate."

"You're not going to go away, are you."

"Doesn't seem particularly likely, no."

Well, that didn't mean he had to keep up his side of the conversation. He was here to scheme, after all. Determined to sink into contemplative silence, he settled against the wall and took a lazy drag from his cigarette.

The Sniper, however, seemed determined to ruin his day. "Let me give you some advice, mate."

"Non."

"Quit while you're ahead. They're not gonna come around."

"Would you like to wager money on zat?"

"Its a different game for you and me. We're not fighting the bloody BLUs tooth and nail, face t' face, all personal. We're professionals... as much as I 'ate to lob you and the rest of the bloody sneaks into the same boat as me."

_I would be interested to see you dodge _zat_ many knives in ze back. _"I'm touched."

"The rest of our mates? They get all emotional about it. Take things personally. They're not gonna turn around and trust this BLU bloke on your say so." The Sniper smirked. "_Especially_ not on your say so."

"Zen how would you explain ze Heavy?"

"Fluke."

He waved a hand dismissively. "I will take it into consideration." By which he meant _Will immediately consider irrelevant and thus ignore._

"Sure you will. Just don't say I didn't warn ya, mate."

"I will make a point to remind you of it, later."

The Sniper chuckled, softly, and touched the brim of his hat. Straightening, he turned to go, tossing a friendly "Don't let our Engie catch you cloaked out 'ere. 'E's been particularly jumpy lately" back over his shoulder.

The Spy didn't deign to reply. As much as he hated to admit it, the Australian did have a point. He'd been trying to find some logical, reasonable way to approach the others. Merely suggesting (or, preferably, getting _them _to suggest, as if they'd come up with it themselves) how useful it would be to have a Medic wasn't going to cut it. They'd gone without a healer on the battlefield for so long, their tiny minds probably couldn't even grasp the implications. Obviously, he was going to have to find a way to make this personal.

Unfortunately, before he could come up with a solid plan, Fate apparently decided he'd been having it far too easy thus far, and threw a wrench into things.

Almost literally.

* * *

The Medic woke up on the third morning _without _someone barging into his cell, which was a nice change of pace. A quick glance out of the window suggested there wasn't anyone in the immediate vicinity, either. Feeling vaguely optimistic that he might get a little more peace and quiet today, he hauled himself off of the bunk and went to get a drink from the sink. Peeling off one of his thick rubber gloves, he twisted the handle and awaited the miniature firehose-esque stream of water that the sink usually spat out. This time, however, there was merely a trickle.

And, from somewhere deeper in the wall, an unpleasant sucking, gurgling sound.

He fiddled with the handle for a moment, wondering what was wrong, and if it was worth bothering about. When the noise seemed to be getting louder, he decided he really didn't need a drink right now, thanks, and quickly shut the thing off.

The gurgle was joined by an ominous rumble. Realizing he'd feel like an idiot later, being so nervous about a sink if this turned out to be nothing, he cautiously backed away. _Its... probably nozhing serious..._

It was the Medic's great unfortunate that the Engineer was one of the three REDs within earshot.

The Sniper was savoring his morning cup of coffee, ignoring the Scout's attempts to amuse himself by annoying the Engineer, when he heard the muffled explosion, and the even more muffled _"Mein Gott!"_ from down the hall.

They all looked up. "What in th' Sam Hill was that?" the Engineer demanded, getting to his feet.

The Scout knocked his chair over as he raced to be the first to see what was up. The hysterical laughter that erupted a few moments later, as he apparently found out, was not encouraging. The Engineer stalked after him, a storm brewing on his expression. After a moment, the Sniper sighed, set down his mug and followed.

It soon became fairly obvious what the explosion had been. The sink inside the BLU Medic's cell was now a fountain. The Medic himself was back by the far wall, out of range of the spray. He was bleeding from a few minor cuts and bruises, and looked seriously annoyed. The Scout was outside the window, dying of laughter. As the Sniper picked a spot to observe from, the Engineer let himself into the cell and waded into the spray, his wrench appearing in his hand as if by magic.

The Sniper couldn't make out what mechanical mumbo jumbo he was doing through all the water, but after a minute of cursing and hitting things with the wrench, the water abruptly shut off. Where the sink had been, there was now a small hole in the wall, with a bit of pipe poking out of it, which had just been capped off. Their Scout muttered in disappointment, with the show apparently over, until he caught sight of the Engineer's expression as he turned around. The "Engie" had put away his wrench and produce a rag from somewhere, which he used to wipe the water off of his goggles and hands. Calmly. Deliberately. "Ooooh..." the Scout grinned, nastily. "This is gonna get good."

The Engineer ignored him. The BLU, on the other hand, was starting to look apprehensive. The Texan's voice was soft when he started to speak, but it didn't stay that way for long. "Would you mind telling me what in _tarnation_ you thought you were doing to _my goddamn sink_?" He started to stalk towards the doctor.

The doctor took a small step backwards. "All I did vas turn it on. It did zhat-" He gestured vaguely towards the mess, "-by itself."

The Medic obviously didn't see the swing coming. He staggered a few steps, the dull _thump_ of flesh and bone meeting flesh and bone drowned out by the Scout's encouraging whoop. The Sniper, however, had seen it coming a mile away, and moved in to grab the Scout just as the younger man took the blow as an invitation to join in. Tossing him out of the way, he stepped into the doorway, just in time to catch the Engineer's arm as he wound up for another swing.

"Easy, there-" He started, just as the Scout tried to slip past him and exacerbate things. Snagging the younger man in a headlock, he found himself suddenly struggling between two team mates who seemed determined to initiate combat. Irritated, he turned so he could inform the Scout, "If you don't stop strugglin', I'm going to break your bloody neck, understand?" Never mind that he probably couldn't do it from that particular headlock, but the Scout didn't have to know that.

"Like to see ya _try_," the runner snapped back, but contrary to his words, didn't seem like he actually did want to see the Sniper try. Grumbling something about a "kill joy" he stopped trying to wriggle free. Or, at least, not quite as determinedly.

Ignoring the Scout, he turned his attention back to the Engineer, who, fortunately, hadn't needed any threats of bodily harm to calm him down. "All right, mate?"

"Yeah, yeah..." Slowly, he drew a deep breath, and straightened his shoulders. When he spoke again, his tone had dropped back down to that dangerous calm. "Doc, are you insinuating that something that I designed and built might be _faulty_?"

Apparently the BLU wasn't completely stupid. Checking to make sure his nose wasn't broken, the Medic replied through gritted teeth, "Of. Course. Not."

"Then we appear to have something of a problem, because either you're saying my work is shoddy, or you're saying you broke it." Still with the _Please give me a reason to punch in your stupid face_ calm tone. "Now... which is it?"

Faced with three members of the opposing team, two of which seemed bent on inflicting large amounts of bodily harm, the BLU was obviously trying to choose his words carefully. Unfortunately, there wasn't a whole lot he could say that might have a shot of helping. "I... did not mean to do vhatever it vas that... broke... _your_ sink," he replied, cautiously, after a moment's thought. "It.. vas an accident."

The Sniper was impressed. That was almost an apology. On the other hand, the alternative was getting punched again, and probably kicked a couple times before he'd be able to grab the Scout again. So, maybe not _that_ impressive. The Engineer certainly didn't seem particularly impressed, but at least he didn't seem murderous anymore.

"Y'know, Doc, for a bunch of _Builders_," the Engineer spat, "You folks sure do like smashing up other people's work."

The BLU wisely decided to keep his mouth shut.

His opinion on the matter made clear, the Engineer snorted and pushed past the Sniper and out the door. Crisis averted, the Sniper tipped his cap politely to the BLU Medic with his free hand, and hauled the Scout out of the cell as he left. Then, after he locked the door behind him, he hauled the Scout halfway down the hall as well, just for good measure.

With his young team mate's curses ringing in his ears, he went back to his cup of coffee. He'd have to make sure not to sound _too_ smug when he told the Spy about this.


	8. Conflict

A/N: I just wanted to say "thanks" to all you folks who've reviewed so far! I like finding out when something is working (and when its not) and that I've managed to make at least a couple people laugh. ;) In any case, here is moar for you. Also, I'm gonna try a different line-break thing. If it works, I'll probably go back and try to change previous chapters accordingly. If it doesn't, I'll just delete this message and no one will ever read it (mwa ha).

As always, Team Fortress 2 and its characters are belong to Valve.

--

His nose _was_ broken, but that was merely a matter of popping it back into place and holding it there for awhile until he felt the bones slowly start to knit. The scrapes and bruises he'd picked up from the exploding sink were also starting to fade---sometimes, there was actually advantages to being a Medic. He realized he was almost in a good mood. Well, no, not "good" exactly. _Vindicated, _was probably the word. Finally, _finally_, some of the REDs were acting like the _schweinehunds_ that they were. _See? Zhis is why we hate zhem. Because zhey're bloodzhirsty madmen. _Though, the RED Sniper _had__ Schweig! Zhey are schweinehunds. All of zhem. _Except for the Heavy- _Nein! I am angry, and I am going to stay zhat way. Be silent! _ held his team mates back from actually-

"_Merde_. What happened here?" The door had opened, unnoticed, during his mental tirade and now the Spy was standing over him, looking startled. "What are you doing down zere?"

"Sitting."

"On ze floor?"

"Everyzhing else is vet."

"I can see zat." The Spy arched a brow and repeated his first question, "What happened?"

"Ze sink exploded."

The Spy blinked. He seemed nonplussed, which was rather satisfying to see. "What did you do to it?"

All right, that was it. What did they _possibly_ think he could do to a sink to make it explode? The only "plumbing" he was familiar with was made up of veins and organs, not some stupid, incomprehensible contraption of metal and ceramic! Furious and fed up, he snarled, "I didn't do _anyzhing_ to zhe_ gottverlassen sink!_"

The RED seemed to get ahold of himself, and held up his hands, placating. The thing that really saved him from the Medic's undying wrath, however, was that one of those hands was holding what looked suspiciously like a sandwich, wrapped in a napkin. "My apologies." He took a second look around the room, and added, "I see ze Engineer has been here already."

At the memory of the incident, the Medic could only manage an inarticulate _growl_ in response.

"If it helps, he's not normally so... temperamental. I zink your Spies have been-"

"I. Don't. Care," he interjected. The _last_ thing he wanted was a reason not to hate the man. He was going to savor this, dammit.

The Spy nodded, with resignation, and then changed topics. Giving his sandwich-shaped package a little wave, he offered it to the Medic, "Ze Heavy sends his regards, but unfortunately, he wont be able to visit today. Ze whole team will be busy going over our strategy for tomorrow," he added, "So zey wont be bothering you." He glanced around at the room again, and then added, "Will you be all right?"

He didn't quite snatch the sandwich, trying very hard to not be rude to the person bringing him food. _Vhat part of zhis whole situation could possibly be called "all right?"_ Still, he had his sandwich, and they were going to leave him alone all day. That was probably close. "I'll be fine."

Giving him a rather sympathetic look (which the Medic returned with an annoyed glare), the Spy nodded again, and left.

--

True to his word, the Spy and the rest of his team left him alone the rest of the day. He didn't spend it very comfortably: The only dry bits of his cell were the unfurnished bits. The bunk was completely soaked, and covered in bits of ceramic shrapnel, so he stayed in his nice, dry little corner, sitting on the floor.

It wasn't until late that evening that the Engineer returned. Spotting the distinctive hard hat through the window, the Medic froze, and eyed the door to his cell, warily. Fortunately, the RED didn't seem interested in coming in. Without a glance in the Medic's direction, he started working on something outside of the cell. After a few moments, the sounds arranged themselves into something oddly familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

Cautiously, the Medic got up to peer through the window. The newly made Sentry beeped, ominously, and lined up for a shot. Startled, he ducked back out of sight. Outside, he heard the Texan chuckle. Then the REDs footsteps faded away.

With a sigh, he sat back down, and rested his head against the wall.

_Beep_, went the Sentry gun outside.

_Beep._

_Beep_.

_Beep_.

"You have got to be joking..."

--

Needless to say, he did not get a very restful night's sleep, and dozed sporadically through the morning. The REDs were strangely absent, and he only belatedly remembered why, when the Sniper showed up. He had almost dozed off again and hadn't heard the man approach, only to get startled into alertness when the cell door opened. The Australian stepped in, his expression grim, his clothes blood spattered. _Zhat's right... Zhey vere fighting today._

His brain was urgently trying to point something out to him, and he finally let it. The Sniper was carrying a submachine gun. It was pointing at him._ Zhey vere fighting. Vhich... means ze cease fire is over_.

"Sorry, doc."

_ Oh, Scheiße._

* * *

_-- Earlier --  
_

The BLU Sniper was not amused. The REDs had left their Engineer and Heavy Weapons Guy to defend the point. They were crouched behind an irritating sheet of metal that kept him from sticking bits of wood through their brains, and the Heavy was hooked up to a Dispenser that let him spray a perpetual rain of bullets down onto the point. To make matters worse, they'd also left _their_ Sniper, who was hiding in the building across from the Heavy, ready to take the head off any BLU that tried to sneak up on the pair covering the point.

To make matters better, however, was that the BLU Sniper already had a solution to this little puzzle. If only he'd get his one-eyed, drunken ass up to the front lines already. Until he did, the Sniper would just have to settle for keeping his opposite number distracted, by putting arrows through his window periodically. That was the nice thing about the bow and arrow, he didn't need to stick his whole head out to get a shot. Once he got the angle, he could sit in relative safety and drop his arrows right into the bastard's nest. This was a perfect spot for it, too, with a nice big ammo cache right in arm's reach.

If only he didn't have to share it.

"So, you, uh, actually gonna do somethin' useful there, champ, or what?" the BLU Scout muttered. He was sharing the Sniper's cover, and looking rather annoyed at being pinned down.

The Sniper ignored him. Which, as usual, didn't stop him from talking.

"I mean, jeez, are we trying t' find new an' interesting ways to lose each time, or somethin'? 'Cos, hidin' behind a rock isn't really my idea of a winning strategy. This is pathetic. Man, we suck."

"Speak for yourself, wanker."

"Yeah? And what're you doing, that's so freakin' helpful? If you can lob arrows over this rock, why can't you just lob 'em over their cover, huh? Freakin' moron..."

"I don't 'ave the angle, ya twitchy little hooligan. You wanna do somethin' useful? Go see what's keepin' our new Demoman. 'E'll be able to flush 'em out."

A scowl crossed the Scout's face at the mention of their new team mate, and the Sniper knew why. Bloody little idiot was still sore over losing their Medic, who the drunken Scott had replaced. Personally, the Sniper didn't give a damn, so long as the new guy made himself useful. "Look, cry about it later, and go get 'im, will ya?"

Grumbling, the Scout sped off back towards the BLU Warehouse.

--

_Why'd th' Doc hafta go and die?_ He hated to admit it, but he was really starting to miss the old guy. Sure, he'd been grouchy and slow and talked funny, but he'd always had the Scout's back. Now it was just him and the Pyro of the original five that had transferred in after the previous guys had had their asses handed to them. Alright, so, technically the previous BLUs had _won_ that fight, but as far as the Scout was concerned, it only counted if you were able to brag about it afterwards. Unfortunately, the last two BLUs from that team were still hanging around, acting all high and mighty, just because they _used_ to be winning.

Stupid Sniper.

He couldn't even count on the Pyro to watch his back anymore, either, because the crazy mute was stuck babysitting their new Engineer's machines. And he certainly couldn't count on these new guys, the stupid morons. It was getting to be every man for himself, around here. And it _sucked_.

As he reached the end of the path back to the warehouse, he stumbled across their tardy team mates, just in time to see the RED Soldier and RED Pyro ducking in to their base through another door. He fired a couple of shots after them with his pistol, more for show than anything else, then turned to the new guys. _Man, the Doc would be pissed if he knew they waited until he kicked the bucket before they hired a Heavy. _"Yo! What's the hold up? Haul yer lazy asses! We gotta get on the frickin' point!"

The Demoman glared with his one good eye. "Didnae see _yeu_ doin' anythin' useful, laddie," he pointed out.

"Yeah? Well this is me, bein' useful, tellin' you to _hurry th' hell up_. C'mon!"

--

He heard running steps coming up the path, and then the Scout was back, with the Demoman, and their new Heavy Weapons Guy, in tow. "Found 'em. They were playin' catch with some REDs."

They didn't look too badly hurt, though both looked a bit scuffed up. The Demoman seemed to be having trouble walking in a straight line, but as far as the Sniper could tell that was normal. "'Urry up and get over 'ere, ya bloody cyclops. Think you can drop a couple of bombs down inta their nest there?"

"Pfeh. It'll be laik blowin' up fish innae barrel," The Scotsman snorted, disdainfully, and stumbled over.

"Then I'll keep the wanker in the window from takin' yer 'ead off. Now get to it." Moving so he could get a better shot, he sent an arrow through the window, and saw a bit of red duck out of sight again. He could almost imagine the other bloke's swearing. It was heartwarming.

Taking this as a signal to start, the Demoman took what some might call a wobbly guesstimate rather than proper "aim", and sent off a couple of pipe bombs, experimentally. They dropped right into the REDs little nest, and with a whoop of delight, the Scotsman started to send in a steady rain of them. From the sounds of cursing, the RED Engineer was frantically trying to keep his Dispenser up, but it was a losing battle. To the sound of exploding machinery, and the RED Engineer's cry of "Dispenser dow-_Aaugh!!_", the RED Heavy stumbled out into the open.

"_Gotcha!_" With a fierce grin, the Sniper swung his bow over and lined up a shot. Then, red light glinted off of his sunglasses, and he ducked, just in time, his hat knocked off by the enemy Sniper's bullet. "Damn!" He started to try and get up, to get a shot at either of the REDs, when a sudden hail of bullets peppering the ledge made all the BLUs duck for cover.

"RUN, COWAAARDS!"

--

The RED Spy resisted the urge to flick a cigarette onto the simulated corpse of his opponent, and instead quickly cloaked and crouched, ears straining for the sound of footsteps. There were none. Undoubtedly, the BLU Spy was doing something similar. Fortunately, _he_ could hide like this almost indefinitely. His opponent did not have that luxury: His cloak would run out, and soon.

There was a soft rustle of cloth, and then his eye caught a glimpse of cigarette smoke, wafting up from apparently thin air. Then, footsteps. It sounded as if his opposite number was trying to quietly back out of the room, judging from the sound of the steps. Which mean he was about... _there._

He took a moment to aim, uncloaked and fired. There was a curse, and a shimmer of blue in the air, then the quiet foot steps turned into running ones. He fired a few more shots after the fleeing Spy. Unfortunately, he only winged him once---firing at an invisible enemy was somewhat difficult, after all. The door leading out of the warehouse, back into the BLUs' base, slid open, and then closed.

The Spy smirked, and then flicked open his disguise kit. A moment later, he was nonchalantly trotting up to the second floor disguised as the recently departed BLU Spy. _Now. About zat Sentry gun._

--

"Alert!" came the unwelcome voice of the Announcer. "Our last Control Point is being Captured!"

"_Damn!_" He jabbed a finger at the Demoman. "Go back and give 'em a 'and! And _you_ two," he turned to the Scout and the Heavy, "Get ready to rush the bloody point!"

"And what're _you_ gonna do, huh?" the Scout demanded.

"_I_ am gonna keep your 'ead from getting shot off, you ungrateful little wanker. Now _get_."

They did.

_He_ went back to lobbing arrows from safety, and soon the hail of bullets over head had been turned in a new direction. And in a minute, the Announcer alerted them that the RED Control Point was being captured. For a moment, things were starting to look up, then he heard "Alert! Our last Control Point is being Captured!" again. _Damnation. Do I 'afta do everythin' myself?_

He snuck a quick look at the situation. The Scout and the Heavy were on the Control Point, trading shots with the RED Heavy---he couldn't hear any shots from the RED Engineer. Maybe they'd got the bastard, along with his Dispenser. _Meh. They can 'andle this._ Even if the other Sniper took out one of 'em, there wouldn't be enough time to nab 'em both. Probably.

He grabbed some extra ammunition, and took off down the path, back to the Warehouse. They couldn't let RED cap the point first, if they were going to win this thing.

--

The BLU Scout was starting to feel more confidant. At first, he hadn't been too happy about having to sit practically still, out in the open, right under the RED Sniper's nose, but _their_ Sniper was keeping his word. The RED hadn't been able to poke his head up. And heck, they were winning! For once.

"Alert! Our last Control Point is being Captured!"

Or not. "Hurry it up, c'mon, change! Stupid freakin' point!"

_Nothin' to worry about, nothin' to worry about._ They got this. No problem. Maybe the Sniper really did know a thing or two. And, not only had he come up with a good plan, now he was watching the Scout's back, too. The Heavy's, too, of course. _Huh. Maybe I misjudged th'-_

The sound of the RED Sniper's rifle, a sharp, final sounding _crack,_ split the air. The Scout would have been quite startled. Had he been able to hear it.

--

Apparently this was the Sniper's lucky day: The first thing to come into view once he got inside and started up the ramp to the second level was the RED Scout zipping up the ramp ahead of him, heading up to the third. "Oh no you don't." Nothing around to distract him. No need for a headshot, either. He aimed quickly, and planted an arrow squarely into the RED Scout's back. The stupid little nancy boy face planted at the top of the landing, but from his swearing, the bloody git was still kicking. Ah well, easily remedied. Shouldering his bow and reaching for his kukri, he started up the ramp, purposefully.

The RED Spy uncloaked, standing over his fallen comrade, and suddenly bullets were zipping past the Australian's head. With only his knife at hand, he ducked for cover, and unslung his bow again. Darting back out to return fire, he found the landing empty of both Spy and Scout. With a curse, he charged after them, only to be met with more gunfire as he rounded the corner. The Scout was slung over the Spy's shoulder, firing wildly with his pistol to cover their retreat. While he wasn't a sharp shooter, he was firing steadily enough to discourage the Sniper from following, and in a manner of moments, they were out of sight, and well on their way into RED territory.

He started to swear, but the word was cut off by the Announcer, her voice smug. "Success!"

They'd captured the point. Ha! They'd actually managed it. BLU had actually won a round. _Finally_.


	9. Solutions

The RED Sniper was not amused. By the time the steady rain of arrows had ceased, already he knew he wouldn't have time to snipe _both_ the wankers on the point. He wasn't particularly pleased to admit defeat, but he'd be even less pleased to be horribly killed, so it was time for some exit strategy. They could outrun the Heavy. _Scout it is, then._

Keeping one eye out for his opposite number, he lined up the shot as quickly as he was able. The twitchy little hooligan didn't know what hit him, and suddenly there was just one BLU on the point. Unfortunately, one was enough. The lights on the Point changed, from red to blue.

"You failed!" shrieked the Announcer.

And the Scout's big, stupid, homicidal friend finally figured out where the shot had come from. He dove for cover just before the Heavy's minigun started filling the window he'd been standing in with lead. Deserting his nest, he made his way quickly down the stairs, and through the makeshift base. Hopefully his teammates would use the distraction to get themselves to safety, but if not, there was nothing he could do about it. He'd have to save his own skin, and trust that they could save theirs.

_Can't just waltz out the front. _After a moment's consideration, he headed for the canal access, and cautiously crept outside. The BLU Heavy was still shooting at the window, but he quickly spotted the Sniper again---bright red just didn't make for good camouflage, what with all the brown, brown, and slightly grayish brown what made up the landscape. As the BLU swung his minigun around, the Sniper ran under the bridge that connected the point to the base, and kept running. Out the other side, around an outcropping of rock, through the tunnel---back to RED territory. Bullets whizzed through the air behind him, but he quickly outpaced the Heavy.

He was more than a little relieved when he caught up with his teammates (mostly because there were team mates to catch up _to_). Their Heavy had the Engineer slung under one arm, straining to hold his minigun with the other. Truckie looked like hell, but at least he was still kicking. He kept trying to get the Heavy to put him down _now,_ dagnabbit, but the Heavy was having none of it. When he saw the Sniper emerge from the tunnel, he hailed the Australian. "Spy has run ahead with tiny man! Come along now, quick!"

"Right," the Sniper agreed, calmly, then added, "Look, lemme give Truckie a 'and. You just carry your gun, mate."

"I'm _fine_," snapped the Engineer, but he was cradling his arm in a manner that suggested he very much wasn't.

The Heavy seemed to think this was a good plan, however, and immediately set the Engineer down. The three beat as hasty a retreat as they were capable of, deeper into their base. Even wounded, Truckie was faster than the Heavy, and so he and the Sniper were first to the open courtyard between the outer and inner bases, where they found the Spy and the Scout. The Spy, who had obviously carried the Scout exactly as far as he was willing to do so and not a step further, was now trying to get the runner to let go of his arm. The reason for this, as well as the reason why it was obvious the Spy had carried his younger team mate, was the arrow in the young man's back. The Scout had taken this opportunity to, as he himself would put it, "freak the hell out."

"I can't feel my freakin' legs! I can't feel my legs! _I can't feel my legs I can't feel my legsIcan'tfeelmylegsIcan't-_"

The Spy patiently kept trying to disentangle himself from the Scout's death grip, even as he looked up. "We could use a Dispenser over he- ..._Merde._"

"Wish I could help," the Texan winced, sounding genuinely sorry he couldn't, and still carefully cradling his mangled arm. "But those daw-garned BLUs blew up the last one. And..."

He didn't need to say it. Obviously, he wasn't about to be putting up a new one any time soon.

_This,_ the Sniper noted, _is a problem. _And he could already see what the solution was going to shape up to be. _Blokes need some proper medical attention. Don't have a Dispenser to pump some 'ealth inta 'em. What we _do_ 'ave, though, is one commandeered Medic..._

Who, admittedly, had every reason not to like these two, and almost certainly wouldn't be inclined to help.

_Ah well. That's what guns are for._

Clapping the Engineer on the back (Truckie winced), and informing him to "Sit tight, mate", he loped off towards their base.

---

There was the Sentry gun to deal with, of course, as well as the fact he didn't have his SMG on him (and it'd be just a tad cumbersome to hold the good doctor at gun point with his rifle). A quick stop at his quarters fixed the second problem, and on the way back, an ingenious idea---and a large waste paper bin---solved the first. Snatching it up, he knocked the lid off and dumped it out, then strode purposefully down the hall to the doc's cell. Fortunately, they'd talked Truckie into sticking with a "level one" Sentry, on account of bullet proof glass probably not standing up to rocket launchers. Dropping the waste bin neatly over the dinky little Sentry, he got out his gun and went to the door.

The Medic blinked groggily at him. Until he noticed the Sniper's gun, and where it was leveled. _Then_ he woke up.

"Sorry, doc." The Sniper stepped out of the doorway and indicated with a jerk of his head that the doctor should get out, and continued, "But it seems your services are required."

From his expression, this was not what the Medic had been expecting. He looked blank. "Vhat?"

"You'll see when ya get outside." He glanced significantly at his gun, and added, "'Fraid I'm not really asking."

The Medic got to his feet, looking wary. "Zhe Sentry gun-"

"Taken care of."

"_MEDIC!_"

They both started, and before either of them could recover, the Heavy was elbowing his way into the cell. The Sniper hastily backed up to give him room (and avoid being accidentally squashed). The big man completely ignored him in favor of the doctor, who he grabbed by the shoulder and hauled out of the cell with a "Come! Is important!"

Protesting that "I can valk on mein own, verdammt!" the Medic was half lead, half carried up the stairs, leaving the Sniper standing alone by the cell, feeling somewhat bemused. _Well. That works. _Of course, he probably wouldn't be very useful without his Medigun. Holstering his weapon, the Sniper turned his feet towards the Resupply station, where they'd stashed the stuff they'd nicked off the Medic when they'd first captured him.

---

The Engineer was not a medical man, for all his PhDs made him a "Doctor." He'd be the first to admit that the inner workings of the human body were as much of a mystery to him as Quantum Physics was to the rest of his teammates. But even so, he was pretty sure that he should have been able to feel his arm. He suspected it was supposed to hurt a lot more than this, under the circumstances. The fact that it wasn't, probably was not a good thing.

He tried not to think about it. Unfortunately, the easiest, most obvious distraction wasn't much more cheerful.

"-_can'tfeelmylegsIcan'tfeelmylegsIcan't-_"

The Spy was making soothing comments, periodically, but the Engineer couldn't help but wonder if the sneaky bastard was more worried about the boy wrinkling his expensive suit than anything else. He came over to stand next to them, and the Spy glanced up. "Looks nasty," the Engineer muttered, over the noise the Scout was making.

"He will be fine," the Spy replied, with his usual casual confidence.

"Hope you're right."

"Of _course_ I'm right." Something drew the Spy's attention to the base, and he added, "There. See?"

The Engineer looked up in time to see their Heavy return, the BLU Medic in tow. The doctor looked tired and annoyed and, when he noticed the Texan, his expression made it clear the Engineer was one of the very last people the BLU wanted to see. "Yeah," he agreed, dully. "Great idea."

Ignoring his less than enthusiastic response, the Spy tried to rise. When the Scout wouldn't let him, he stifled his irritation, and merely nodded to the doctor, instead. The BLU eyed him, suspiciously. "How good of you to come," he said, dryly, then added, more smoothly, "We would be most appreciative if you could do somezing for our friends, here."

"Oh, hell no!" The Scout twisted around, trying to see the BLU. "Keep him away from me!"

The Medic frowned, slightly, turning his attention to the wounded REDs. After a few moments of studying them, silently, with the Heavy hovering over his shoulder, he heaved a sigh. "I vill need my Medi-"

"Right here, mate." The Sniper practically materialized at the Medic's elbow, offering him his "weapon." "Need anything else?"

The doctor blinked, and accepted the offered device. "Uh? No... Danke."

The Sniper touched the brim of his hat and stepped back.

As the Medic was slinging the pack attached to the Medigun onto his back, the Engineer noticed the large bulb of (presumably) liquid was red, instead of its usual blue. Something the Sniper must have done, and he wasted a few moments wondering where he found the REDs' equivalent of the BLU's healing juice in their base. Then the Medic was kneeling down by the Scout, who was trying to claw his way up the Spy's arm to get away. _The squeaky wheel gets the oil, I guess_.

"Nngh! Gah! _L'enfant!_ Get. Off."

"Keep 'im th' hell away from me! He's gonna kill me an' steal my organs! I need those! He's gonna use me fer parts!"

"_Imbecile!_ Let go of me!"

"I'm not ready t' go yet! I- _Oof!_"

The Medic, who had been ignoring the antics of his new patient while he inspected the arrow coming out of his back, had suddenly placed one hand between the Scout's shoulder blades and pinned him firmly on the ground. "Hold still," he ordered, unnecessarily. He wrapped his free hand around the arrow's shaft, right where it entered the Scout's back, and added, calmly, "Zhis will hurt."

"What?! _OhshitohshitohshOW!!! OWYOUCRAZYSONNUVABITCH YOU $%!%!ING%!%! I'MGONNA%!%%!%!YOU you... sonnuva... _Hey." The Scout trailed off, and blinked, looking confused. Throughout his tirade, the Medic had calmly set the arrow aside and picked up his Medigun, pointing it directly at the Scout's back and turning it on. Now the younger man loosened his death grip on the Spy to twist around and look back at his feet. Looking amazed, he bent one leg, then the other. "Holy shit."

"See if you can-"

The Scout vaulted to his feet, jogged in place a few steps, and, with a whoop of pure glee, sprinted off at full speed into the base. The Spy quickly straightened and started preening, trying to get his suit back into a presentable state. Suddenly, the Engineer was feeling somewhat more optimistic, though it was countered by a healthy dose of apprehension. While it was likely the Medic could fix his arm right up, the Engineer couldn't imagine the BLU would take great pains to make the experience _pleasant_.

The doctor stood up and turned his attention on him. Or, rather, on his arm. After a moment he realized the Medic was making a point not to meet his gaze, his attention solely on the job in front of him.

He was currently frowning at the Engineer's hand, in such a way that was making the Texan pretty nervous. He was almost relieved to hear the BLU mutter, "Need to get zhat glove off." He'd been half worried it wasn't the _glove_ that the Medic would want to remove.

The Medic turned to glance at the Spy and held out one hand. "Give me your knife," he ordered.

The Spy looked bemused, but reached for his butterfly knife and flipped it open. "Why?"

"You don't have scissors. Give me zhe knife."

He turned back and started carefully cutting the glove away. When, feeling obliged to protest a little at the loss of his glove, the Engineer muttered that he "needed that," the Medic retorted, "You can keep zhe hand, or zhe glove." And kept cutting. Once the glove was cut away, the Engineer averted his eyes. He didn't really need to see his hand like that. He'd probably have nightmares about it later, anyway. It'd be up there, right along with the army of Übered Spies with a thousand Sappers...

"Can you viggle your fingers?"

"What?"

The Medic sighed. "Can you _move_ your fingers?"

"Oh. Uh." He tried, and winced. He couldn't actually tell if he managed it, but the effort had sent unpleasant cold twinges running up his arm. The Medic _hmm_ed, thoughtfully, and then glanced back at their audience. After a moment's thought, he waved the Sniper over and then turned back to gently poking and prodding the Engineer's arm. This was a lot less painful than the Engineer was expecting it to be, considering he'd slugged the BLU with this hand, just yesterday. But while the Medic's grip was firm, it wasn't unbearably so.

The Sniper appeared at his elbow again. "Whatcha need, mate?"

"See zhis?" He did something to the Engineer's hand that sent bone deep tremors of _wrong_ running up his arm. He swayed a little, and tried to pretend he hadn't.

The Sniper, his expression blank, put a hand on his shoulder to steady him without taking his eyes off what the Medic was doing. "Yep."

"I need you to hold zhis steady, here, just like zhat. Ja?"

"Not a problem, mate." Dropping his hand from the Engineer's shoulder, he presumably did as the Doc had instructed (the Texan wasn't about to look and find out). The Medic gave a critical eye to the job the Sniper was doing, nodded, and then hefted his Medigun again.

At first, it didn't feel like anything at all was happening. And then there were a series of very faint little crackling, popping noises coming from his arm, and warmth flooded back in, accompanied at first by pins and needles. He had to resist the urge to try and stretch his fingers until the doctor told him to, a few moments later. "How does zhat feel?"

The Sniper stepped away again. He risked a glance at his hand, and then quickly compared it to his other, uninjured one. They looked practically identical, except for the blood stains. "_Huh_," he admitted, sounding astonished even to his own ears, "Feels... good as new."

"What is that _maggot_ doing out of his cell?!" bellowed a voice, a few feet away from his ear.

Almost simultaneously, the gathered REDs and singular BLU all turned. The Soldier and the Pyro had finally caught up. The Soldier was limping, one arm slung over the Pyro's shoulders. He looked, as he normally did, like he was about to snap.

The Engineer cleared his throat. "Nothing to worry about, pardner. He was just giving us-"

He was interrupted by the sound of running feet. The Scout came tearing up the ramp, and sped past the group with a gleeful "Woohoo!" before disappearing down the tunnel past the newcomers.

"Giving us a hand," the Engineer finished, as if nothing had happened. "Some of us needed some fixin' up. I reckon he could take a look at your leg-"

The Soldier drew himself up, snarling, "I don't need any sack of BLU scum's help! I'll bite my own leg off before I let that BLU quack touch it! Now get him locked up, _MAGGOTS_! Or have you _ladies _forgotten we're at _war_!"

There was a beat of awkward silence, then the Sniper tipped his hat, politely, to the Medic. "Thanks for th' 'elp, mate." Then he turned and moseyed his way back into the base.

"Err, yeah." The Engineer glanced at his hands again, and then back up at the Medic. Alright, so, maybe he was a BLU bastard, but he deserved at least a "thank you." He cleared his throat. "_'_Priciate it, Doc."

The Medic didn't respond. Didn't look at him. He just turned and let the Heavy usher him back inside the base.

Somewhere along the line, the Spy had vanished. That just left him, with the glowering Soldier and the silent Pyro. "Welp," he said, at last. "Let me fix you fellahs up a Dispenser."

* * *

A/N: Edited! Holy crap, I don't know how the Soldier's sentence got jumbled, but thanks, you guys, for pointing it out. I'd swear it wasn't like that when I read through, but I musta messed it up somehow. Anyway, it should be fixed now. Thank you thank you thank you! (And feel free to point out bits that made you go "huh?" in the future. ^^)


	10. No Good, Very Bad Day

A/N: I should be sleeping... Instead, here's an update! In which the Medic continues to have an absolutely horrible, really bad day, the Spy attempts to exacerbate it, and the Scout does something he really doesn't want to do. And a sandwich is foreshadowed.

* * *

If he were a nice person, the Spy knew he probably would be feeling very badly about what he was about to do next. Once the Medic had returned to his cell, and the Heavy finally noticed the state it was in, the big man had started anxiously pestering the Medic to make sure he was all right. Judging from the doctor's laconic responses, he was out of sorts, probably trying to wrap his brain around what had just happened. A kind, decent person would leave him alone, let him get his head on straight again. Not sucker punch him with another bit of news that was bound to make his head reel even more.

Fortunately, the Spy was not a kind, decent person.

When the Heavy finally left, promising to return "with Sandvich," he stopped the big man in the hall, out of the doctor's sight. "Take your time with ze Sandvich. I need to have a small chat with ze Doctor."

Obviously, he'd added too much of an ominous inflection to the words 'small chat', because the Heavy frowned. "You will not hurt him," he said. It wasn't a question.

The Spy hid his surprise behind a genuine-looking expression of injured innocence. "Of course not," he replied, smoothly. "Do not worry. Everyzing is finally coming together."

The Heavy seemed mollified by this. "Da? Good."

Leaving the big man to his Sandvich making, the Spy patted the envelope, safely hidden in a pocket of his suit, and headed for the Medic's cell.

The trash can was still over turned over the Sentry gun. _I'm going to have to remember zat trick_, he mused. Though, really, it was much more satisfying to sap the idiotic little things. A quick glance through the window showed that the Medic was standing more or less where the Heavy had left him, gazing blankly at the ruined sink and soggy bunk, but obviously not seeing them. He probably hadn't even realized he was still holding his Medigun.

Moving to the door, the Spy let himself in. The other man didn't notice him until he cleared his throat. Then he started and reached up to scrub a hand over his face, before turning to the Spy. "Yes? Vhat happened now?"

It was a testament to how off kilter he was that the question didn't even sound exasperated. Wordlessly, the Spy reached into his suit and withdrew the BLU envelope, offering it to the doctor. The BLU's eyes lit up, first with surprise, and then cautious hope. He felt like a cad.

Or, would have, that is. If he had been the type of person to feel such trivial, _unprofessional_ emotions.

---

It was official. He was officially in hell. And if he wasn't there yet, then that was undoubtedly where he was going. They was probably a special place, just for people like him, who not only made friends with his enemies, but _healed_ them after they'd just returned from slaughtering all of the people he actually had a _responsibility_ to.

Dimly, the Medic was aware of the Heavy prodding him with questions, and somehow he managed to answer them. Eventually, the topic of sandwiches was brought up, but he couldn't shake himself out of his funk even for that. He barely noticed when the Heavy left.

What was he going to do? As if he wasn't in enough trouble already... Healing the enemy team, that was practically treason. Why hadn't he protested? Refused? They were REDs! They killed BLUs. Like _him_. Like _his patients, _his _teammates_. He wasn't supposed to _help_ them, that was counterproductive! So why did he agree to help? And why, _why_ couldn't he feel guilty about doing so?

Someone cleared their throat, and he started in surprise. _Alright. Get ahold of yourself._ Taking a moment to try and gather his wits, he turned to face his visitor. It was the Spy. _Surprise, surprise. _"Yes? Vhat happened now?"

The RED didn't say anything. He merely pulled a blue envelope from the front of his suit and offered it, calmly, to the Medic. A blue envelope. A _BLU_ envelope. Was it even possible? After everything that had happened, maybe... just maybe... he could just _go home_?

Trying not to let his hands shake, he opened it and fished a sheet of folded paper out. Unfolded it. Read it. Re-read it. And then just stared at the words "terminate our contract" for awhile.

_So... Zhat's it, zhen._

_---  
_

He watched as the hope in the Medic's expression didn't so much die, as evaporate. He just stared blankly at the letter, as if unable to comprehend it. Then his shoulders slumped, as though something heavy had just been slung across them. Very carefully, he refolded the letter, put it back into the envelope, and offered it back to the Spy with a quiet "Danke."

"You can keep it, if you like," the Spy offered. He wasn't entirely sure that was a good idea, but he didn't really _need_ it anymore. Maybe the Medic would find it cathartic, destroying it in some manner.

"Nein," came the quiet, but firm answer. The doctor continued to hold it out to him, and, with a shrug, the Spy took it, slipping it back into his suit.

And _this_ would be his cue to leave, and let the good doctor start picking up the pieces of his life and rearranging them into the only, inevitable configuration. Except that, instead, he found himself clearing his throat, and offering, "I don't zink I have actually said... ah... _thank you_-"

"Don't." The word that cut him off was flat. The Medic heaved a sigh and then added, wearily, "Just... go avay."

The Spy didn't need to be told twice.

Once away (far, far away), he stopped and took a moment to regain his composure. Everything was back on track, and developing nicely, except for a few aberrant twinges of guilt. Which he would get over. There were much more pressing, important things to think about just now, such as deciding when it would be best to tell his teammates that the BLUs had terminated their contract with the Medic. First, he'd have to sound out what the Engineer and the Scout's opinions were likely to be, now that they'd just had a taste of what it'd be like to have a healer around all the time. That had been a stroke of luck, he couldn't have planned it better himself---well, actually, he probably could have. For one thing, if he'd planned it, they would not have _lost_.

Speaking of which, he had to figure out a way to prevent another fiasco like that last battle. There was little point in successfully persuading the Medic to join their team, if there wasn't much of it left to join. Not to mention, it was unforgivably embarrassing. And, he could undoubtedly expect to be summoned back to the Briefing Room shortly, as well. Better to make use of the time that he had.

He headed for the kitchen, and hoped the Heavy was still there, to give him some peace and quiet.

---

So much for worrying about what his team was going to think of him. What BLU Command would have to say. Obviously, what they had to say was "Screw you, little man," probably followed by obnoxious laughter. They... hadn't even _tried_ getting him back. The moment money got involved they'd thrown him to the wolves. Never mind that the wolves had then given him sandwiches and confused the hell out of him, _Command _couldn't know that that would happen! They'd, they'd practically signed his death sentence, and for what reason? Because it'd be cheaper to hire a new Medic? Or just because they were losing? And what was this... this so called _breach of conduct_? He hadn't done anything wrong! _He'd_ been loyal, dammit!

His memory helpfully flashed this afternoon's adventures in his face, and _now_ he felt a twinge of guilt. _Fine. Mostly loyal. But zhey couldn't possibly have found out about zhat so quickly. _They had _made something up_, just so they could fire him. When _he_ needed _them_, for once.

The bastards.

They'd _fired_ him. He'd fought and kept his team mates from _dying_ for them, and they'd _fired_ him. They'd _terminated _his contract. He'd been sitting in here for three days, worrying about how his team would manage without him, and they'd just severed their ties. _Schweinehunds!_ _Zhis is the zhanks I get? Zhey fired me, gottverdammt! _

He was suddenly aware that something besides the Sentry gun was beeping at him. Something familiar. Startled, he looked down, and realized he was holding his Medigun, fists clenched so tightly that he'd inadvertently turned it on. It was making its "Zhere's nozhing here for me to heal, dummkopf, stop trying" noise at him. He was so used to having it at hand, he hadn't noticed they'd let him keep it.

He stared at it. The REDs had let him keep his Medigun. His own team had left him high and dry, with nothing but the clothes on his back, and the _verdammt_ REDs had _let him keep his Medigun_. Even the ones that were yelling at him, or trying to bash his head in, had just... let him keep it, without a single word of protest. While the BLUs, to whom he was so stubbornly determined to be loyal, had thrown him out on his ear. That...

That was _hilarious_.

He started to chuckle, and the tiny part of his mind that was still managing to be rational noted that this was probably shock, or hysteria, or stress. Possibly all three. Telling the rational part of his mind to stuff it, he leaned back against the wall and gave in to helpless laughter.

---

The Medic had _almost_ managed to get ahold of himself again when there came a knock at the door. "Hey, uh... You in there, Doc?"

The voice sounded dubious, as if unable to believe the ever-so-slightly crazed chuckles could be coming out of the stiff, stoic doctor.

_Vhat a stupid question. Vhere else vould I be? _

"Nein," he retorted, dryly, completely unable to stop himself. "I am in zhe Bahamas." He cleared his throat, stifling the reflexive snicker at his own, utterly, utterly lame joke. _All right, you are definitely hysterical. Calm down. Deep breaths. Pull yourself togezzer._

"And now he's got a freakin' sense of humor," his visitor muttered, apparently to himself. "Great." The door opened, and the Scout peered in, eyeing the doctor as if he suspected the BLU might go mental on him. "You, uh, you doin' all right, Doc?"

The Medic nodded, firmly, somehow managing to keep a straight face. "Just a little-" _Hysterical? Crazy? In zhe middle of a nervous breakdown? _"-tired."

"'Kay." The RED nudged the door open and stepped into the room a little ways, fidgeting. He cleared his throat. "Hey, Doc."

He was obviously waiting for a response. _Oh, good. Vhat am I supposed to say? Hello, how are you, are you here to shoot me? _Well, the Medic had to say something. The alternative was to descend into awkward silence until he cracked up again and made the young man think he was crazy. While it would be nice to let someone _else_ be the one confused for awhile, he'd rather try and cling to whatever shreds of his dignity he had left. "Yes?"

"Uh." It was like watching someone try to screw up the courage to pull their own teeth. The Scout very obviously did not want to be here, saying these words, and just as obviously felt obligated to. When he finally forced them out, it was with an unspoken, _You better freakin' listen th' first time, 'cos I'm never, ever sayin' it again. _

"You're not that bad. Fer a BLU."

A short, humorless bark of laughter escaped him before he could restrain himself. _Ah, zhe irony._ The RED, however, mistook it for skepticism.

"Hey, I'm bein' serious!" He rubbed the back of his neck, looking somewhat disgusted with himself, but plunged ahead, "Look, I, ah, I know ya didn't hafta help me out. Guess what I'm sayin' is... I owe ya one. Or somethin'. So, um, if ya need anything, lemme know?" He cast a guilty glance at the mess the exploding sink had made of the cell, and added, "Like, a chair, or a... magazine, or somethin'."

What was with the REDs and _thanking_ him? He was just doing the job in front of him, he'd never asked anyone to be _grateful_ for it. Besides, it wasn't as if the Scout's injuries had been life threatening. _That_ life threatening. Nothing a Medigun couldn't fix, at any rate, or someone armed with common sense and a health kit. "Zhat isn't necessary."

"The hell it aint! This place is a freakin' mess! Guess I could get a mop or somethin'," he added, half to himself, sounding like this was probably the last thing he wanted to actually have to do.

"No, zhat isn't-" He sighed, somewhat exasperatedly. "I meant, you don't have to zhank me."

"Hey, I got _manners_. My ma raised me _polite_."

_Zhen she obviously had a very strange definition of zhe vord._ He was going to start laughing again and offend the young man, and then the Scout would probably punch him. Maybe he should just let it happen, it'd make everybody happy. After all, was there _anything_ he could say to that, that wouldn't come out sarcastic? Perhaps it was better to sidestep the subject of the Scout's upbringing entirely. "I didn't do zhat much. Your injuries weren't zhat bad-"

"_Look_. Doc. I am _thankin'_ you. End of discussion." Scowling, the Scout folded his arms and dared him to argue.

_He's not going to let zhis drop, is he? _Surrendering to the inevitable, he heaved a sigh and muttered, somewhat self consciously, "_Nichts zu danken_."

"Th' hell's that mean?"

It took a moment to come up with a close translation. "It means, ah, 'No problem'_._"

"Why didn't ya just _say_ so?" the runner grumbled, and then tried it out for himself, half under his breath. It came out more like, "Nix zoo daynkin'_._"

He tried not to wince. "Close enough."

The Scout gave him a look that said _Really?_ and mouthed it again to himself. Then he shuffled his feet and set his jaw. "Right. So. Whatddya want?"

"Vhat?"

Folding his arms again, the Scout gave him a pretty good _This is not up for discussion_ scowl. "I owe ya one. I am gettin' you _somethin'_. Whaddya want?"

His life back? For it to be last week again? Or to get a good night's sleep? _Not_ to be in the enemy base? "Somezhing to drink would be nice," he admitted, finally.

"Gotcha!" The Scout was gone before he'd finished the word, down the hall and out of sight.

He hadn't closed the door. It took a moment or two for it to sink in.

The Sentry gun was covered. The door was wide open. There were no REDs around. He could just walk out, presuming he didn't bump into anyone on the way. Even if he did... he could probably outrun any of them, except for the Scout. Who had just run off in the opposite direction. He'd have a decent head start. He could slip outside the base, get back to BLU territory... Alright, so, maybe they terminated his contract but they could always re-hire him. He'd be back with his team.

He stared out at freedom for a minute more, then nudged the door closed with his foot, and went to sit down next to his Medigun.


	11. Kind of like one of those Clown Cars

The Scout raced into the kitchen, ignoring the Heavy, who was making a Sandvich--Big surprise, there. _Somethin' ta drink, somethin' ta drink._ Water? The Doc looked like a 'just water' kinda guy. Only, a glass of water didn't really say_ "Hey, thanks for practically savin' my life. Keep up th' good work." _It was kind of pathetic. But, then what? Milk? _Worse than water._ Juice? Soda? Coffee? Beer? _Hmmm._

Hard Hat had threatened to tie him up and stake him out front with a "Spies, Stab Me Here" sign on his back if the runner tried stealing from the Texan's stash again. Which made it a much more valuable commodity. Heck, he'd be practically sticking his neck out to bring the Doc a bottle. That'd be pretty generous, right?

He glanced over his shoulder. No one was around. Not really surprising, considering the Heavy was in the kitchen. Funny thing, though, he wasn't singing that stupid song like he usually did. Weird. _Eh, whatever. _Confidant he wasn't being watched, the Scout made a bee line for the fridge.

Opened the door, with a glance at the Heavy to see if the big guy even noticed he was here. Satisfied the answer was "'Course not. What're you, stupid?" he turned back to his task. There, waaay in the back of the fridge, was the Engineer's stash of _Red Shed_ beer. He snagged one. It clinked against the other bottles, and he shot another guilty glance at the Heavy to make sure the big guy hadn't noticed.

He had.

Straightening quickly, the Scout scowled up at the big guy and hid the bottle behind his back. "What're _you_ lookin' at?" he demanded, and gave the fridge door a firm kick to close it.

The bottle was lifted out of his hand, and he spun around, just in time to see the Spy uncloak. He made a lunge for the bottle, but the Spy held him off long enough to get a good look at the label. "Haven't you been in enough pain for one day?"

"Yeah, yeah, very funny. Gimmie that!" Swiping it back, he scowled at the Spy, who just looked amused, the smug bastard.

"Ze Engineer will paint you blue and tie you to ze front of his Sentry gun," the taller man pointed out, helpfully.

"S'gotta catch me first," the Scout retorted, and, prize acquired and zinger delivered, he dashed out of the kitchen again, before Hard Hat could show up.

He was feeling rather pleased with himself, until he got back to the Medic's cell and realized the Engineer wouldn't need to catch up with him. The Engineer was already here. _Crap! _He ducked back around the corner. _Crap crap crap._ He couldn't even sneak past ol' Hard Hat and get into the cell, the freakin' Engineer was _inside_ it, working on... something. He hadn't actually seen.

The Scout took a peek around the corner, cautiously. The Texan was fixing the sink. _'Bout freakin' time._ _Lazy bum._ That meant Hard Hat was distracted, though. Maybe if he got in there, he could find a way to slip the Doc the bottle while the Engineer wasn't looking. _Yeah, that'd work._

---

The Medic quickly realized that he was doomed not to have five blasted minutes of peace and quiet, in which to quietly spiral down into the darkest, deepest pits of insanity and despair. (This was, perhaps, a tad melodramatic, but he'd had a miserable couple of days, dammit, so he was entitled.) Less than a minute after the Scout had sprinted off, he heard footsteps outside. Even the runner wasn't quite that fast, so he'd risked a glance, and immediately regretted it. The Engineer had arrived, and was frowning down at the trashcan covering his Sentry gun. It was not an expression that boded well, and the Medic wasted a moment or two debating whether or not to try and barricade his door.

From outside, there came the sounds of the Sentry gun being dismantled and packed back up. The Medic was somewhat cheered by the thought he might actually get to remember what _silence_ sounded like, without the Sentry beeping at him every few seconds, but couldn't quite shake his apprehension that the Engineer wasn't going to leave him alone. With the way his luck had been holding, the Texan would probably blame him for the trash can over the Sentry gun, and take it up with his face. Or, worse, the man might try and _thank_ him. If another RED came in here and attempted to heap gratitude on him, he was going to throw something at them. _I mean it._

The noises outside had died away. There was a few moments of silence, and then the Engineer knocked. Or tried to: The door swung open when his hand hit it. The man frowned at it, and then over at the doctor, who fixed him with a defiant glare. _Going to blame me for zhat, too? Its not my fault you dummkopfs don't know how to lock a door._ Out loud, he said, "Vhat do you vant?" With, perhaps, a tad more irritation than was strictly necessary.

He was rewarded with a flicker of hesitation that dislodged the Engineer's frown and, though the hesitation quickly faded, the frown didn't return. "Just fixin' your sink, Doc."

_Oh._ He relaxed, a little. Then set his jaw again, stubbornly. _Alright, so he's being helpful. I still don't like him._

Without another word, the Engineer hefted his toolkit, nudged the door closed behind him, and headed for the remains of the sink. Silence descended. Blissful silence, only interrupted by the noises made by whatever incomprehensible thing the Engineer was doing to the plumbing. Stifling a relieved sigh, he let his head rest against the wall behind him and shut his eyes. If he never, ever heard another Sentry gun again, it would be too soon.

The door creaked open, and suddenly something thumped down onto the ground next to him. Startled, he opened his eyes to find the Scout seated beside him, eyeing the Engineer rather cautiously. One hand was behind his back. Seeing he'd caught the Medic's attention, he nodded, amiably. "_'_Sup."

Before the Medic could figure out if "Sup" was supposed to _mean_ anything, the Engineer had glanced over his shoulder and frowned at the younger man. "What d'you want?"

"Nothin'," the Scout shot back, apparently trying to look innocent and failing utterly. "I'm _bored_." From the sound of it, this was an excuse he used fairly often.

The Engineer snorted and turned back to his work. "Don't bother th' Doc."

"I'm not!" He nudged the Medic, and added, "Am I, Doc?"

He was saved from having to decide whether he should annoy the Engineer by agreeing with the Scout or just throttle the Scout, by the arrival of yet another RED. This one, however, was at least slightly welcome. The Heavy filled the doorway, sandwich in one hand, grinning down at the Medic and the Scout with obvious amusement. The Scout seemed unsurprised by the Heavy's arrival, and just grinned cheekily back. "Hey, big guy. You got enough there fer everyone?"

"No," the Heavy replied, firmly, and handed the plate over to the Medic. When the Scout made as if to try and snatch one of the halves, the Heavy fixed him with a look that promised the rending and tearing of limbs. Smirking, the Scout shrugged dismissively and sat back.

The Medic, meanwhile, had already selected one half and taken a bite. One day, perhaps, he'd get tired of eating these sandwiches. That day was not today.

The Heavy settled himself down in the doorway and addressed the Engineer's back. "You fix bunk next, da?"

"Bunk?" The Engineer stopped and looked back at it, frowning. "What in tarnation is wrong with th'-"

A droplet of water took that moment to drip, pointedly, from the bottom of the soggy mattress. The Engineer frowned, thoughtfully, and then glanced down at the expansive puddle he'd been standing in, that ran from the sink and all the way under the bunk, which he'd apparently dismissed until now. He scratched his chin. "Hmm. Now, that could be a problem."

"Could get Pyro to come in an' dry everything out," the Scout piped up, helpfully.

"Yeah, and set it all on _fire_," the Engineer retorted.

"Hey, he's got that... air... thing-"

"Compressed air, son."

"Right, that. _That_ thing that his flamethrower can do. Hot without catchin' stuff on fire, right?"

The Engineer still looked dubious, and glanced at the Medic. The Medic ignored him, in favor of the sandwich. He didn't particularly care if they set the whole room on fire, so long as _he_ wasn't in it while it was burning. "Suppose it doesn't hurt to ask." Turning back to the Scout, he added, "Run get 'im."

"_Me_?"

The Engineer shrugged and turned back to the sink. "You're th' one who suggested it, kid."

Grumbling, the Scout started to scramble to his feet, and then seemed to remember something. With a furtive glance at the Engineer's back, he withdrew a bottle from behind his back and stuck it in between the Medic's elbow and the wall with a muttered, "Don't let Hard Hat see that, 'kay?" Then he turned and vaulted the Heavy, his footsteps rapidly fading down the hall.

Warily, he snuck a glance at the bottle. It appeared to be a fairly ordinary bottle, its label proclaiming it to be _Red Shed_ beer. Puzzled as to why such a thing would have to be hidden from the Engineer, he glanced over at the Heavy, on the off chance the big man might explain. The Heavy just grinned.

With a resigned sigh, he went back to his sandwich.

---

Ten minutes later, the Medic was wondering if the REDs were determined to see just how many of their teammates they could fit into his cell. The Scout had returned with the Pyro in tow, and now he and the Engineer had their heads together, discussing the best way to dry the mattress out. At least, that's what he assumed they were doing---the conversation seemed to be rather one sided, with the Pyro occasionally throwing in a muffled suggestion or two. To be perfectly honest, the Medic was a little surprised the Pyro had even come. Not that he could tell what the masked man was thinking, but the Medic had more or less assumed the Pyro didn't like him, on general principle. He supposed this didn't actually rule that out, either: the Pyro might be here just because he liked a chance to use his flamethrower. As for the Heavy and the Scout, they seemed determined not to miss the show, and remained seated on the floor next to him. The Scout had apparently decided to pass the time before the inevitable catastrophe by attempting to see how many of his incessant questions he could get the doctor to answer before the doctor strangled him.

He started with the obvious, and made his way from there. "So, Doc. You're German, right?"

The Medic tried to adjust the tone of his "Yes" in such a way as to discourage further inquiries. It didn't work.

"So, you're from Germany?"

This time the "Yes" had an unvoiced, but nevertheless clear, _You idiot_ tagged onto it. If the Scout noticed, he was unfazed.

"What's it like?"

This one actually gave him pause. It had been a long time since he'd thought about his homeland, and he realized that if he took the time now, he'd be adding homesickness to the long list of reasons he had to brood. That was the last thing he needed right now, so, somewhat wistfully, he pushed those thoughts from his mind and answered the Scout's question with a noncommittal shrug.

The Scout was undeterred by the Medic's non-answer. He suspected the runner was used to that response from his team mates by now. "D'you have baseball there?"

Well, that nicely derailed any melancholy thoughts. Though, really, he knew he shouldn't have been surprised. The BLU Scout liked the sport, too---for all the Medic knew, it was might be a mandatory requirement for the class. "Yes. Ve do."

"Seriously?" The Scout sounded amazed, and a tad skeptical, "You've got teams and leagues, and everything?"

"Mmm. But, it is not as, ah, _big_ as it is here."

"Uh-huh. Hey! You ever seen a Red Sox game?"

"Vell, no. I vas never really-"

"Aw, man, you're missin' out!" And then the younger man proceeded to launch into a long explanation, possibly about these so-called Red Sox, involving unfamiliar names of people, doing things that were described with unfamiliar technical terms. He picked out some numbers, as well, here and there, but the Scout had started talking faster in his enthusiasm. That, combined with his accent, made the whole speech completely unintelligible as far as the Medic was concerned.

He couldn't have been happier. All he had to do was pretend to listen, and he'd be able to enjoy his sandwich, uninterrupted. Nodding occasionally in what seemed to be the appropriate places, the Medic had just barely finished the last bite when the show began.

"Let's give it a shot. Y' reckon you've got enough fuel?" Was the only warning the Medic had.

"Mmph," replied the Pyro, and suddenly there was a flamethrower going off three feet from his head.

His reflexes had him trying to scramble out of the way before he could stop himself. Trying to reassure his jangling nerves that, no, really, the Pyro _wasn't_ trying to light him on fire (probably), he was relieved to realize the Scout had also reflexively scrambled away from the flamethrower as well. Under the cover of the younger man's swearing, he quickly regained his composure.

"What th' hell!" Ignoring the Heavy's laughter, the Scout scowled fiercely at the REDs by the bunk. "Give a guy some warning! Jeez!"

The Pyro just laughed, and aimed another burst from his flamethrower at the bunk. Somewhere along the line, they'd propped the mattress up on its side, and now they were planning on setting it on fire. Or, at least, that's what it looked like: The Pyro kept shooting quick bursts of flame at it.

"Hey, I thought we were gonna _avoid_ burnin' the place down!" The Scout protested.

The Engineer jerked a thumb at the Pyro. "He says its too wet, it wont catch on fire if he's careful."

Considering that the words "careful" and "Pyromaniac" were not often used in the same sentence, the Medic was not terribly reassured. Then again, if they wanted to set the damn thing on fire, then they could go right ahead. Just so everyone, particularly the Engineer, was clear that it was _not his fault_.

True to the Pyro's word, however, the mattress was steaming and scorching a little, but not actually bursting into flames. The conversation, however, had been thoroughly derailed. Everyone was too busy watching the Pyro work, waiting to see if things were about to get very flammable all of a sudden. Not that he was complaining, really. Several minutes ticked by, silent except for the Pyro's flamethrower, and the occasional comment from the peanut gallery. Until...

"_Ahem_."

Everyone, except for the Pyro, glanced up. The Spy stood in the doorway. _Zhis is getting ridiculous, zhere is no possible vay zhey are all going to fit in here_. About to say as much, he took one look at the man's expression and bit back the comment. The RED did not look pleased.

"I hate to interrupt... whatever it is you are doing," he said, dryly, "But zis is important."

"'Bout finished," the Engineer assured him. "What did you need?"

"I need to gather ze team," the Spy replied, still looking less than amused. "Command sends its regards, and instructions." To the Scout, he added, "Go find our Solider and Sniper, and tell zem to meet us in ze kitchen."

The Scout looked rebellious. "We're busy," he retorted, "Make 'em come here."

"Not here." The Spy gave the Medic a pointed look, and continued, smoothly, "Zere is not enough room. Now, go get zem."

Now he was curious. What did the Spy want to discuss with his team that he didn't want the Medic to overhear? Of course, it could have been something as reasonable as not wanting to go over the RED team's strategies in front of a BLU. Except, the Spy _knew_ that he was no longer a BLU. Which still didn't mean that the RED would want to discuss tactics in front of an outsider, but... _Vait a minute_. The _Spy_ knew he wasn't a BLU anymore---had he told his team? Judging from past experience, possibly not. Yet. Was _that_ it? Was the Spy planning on telling them now? What about these so-called _plans_ he said he'd had, if the ransom fell through? Obviously, they'd either hinged on him still being a BLU, or... or had never really existed at all. The Spy had merely told him what he'd wanted to hear. _I should have never even _considered_ trusting him_. And now, the Spy would tell the REDs, and then the REDs were going to _kill_ him.

Before he could start panicking, his logic tapped him on his shoulder and pointed out that over half of the RED team, not including the Spy, was sitting in his cell, and being various degrees of friendly with (and just generally not directing homicidal rage towards) him. _So, calm down. Again. Anyvay, zhis might not even have anyzhing to do vith you._ Getting a firm hold on his nerves, he turned his attention back to the conversation, just in time to hear the Scout's stubborn retort.

"Get 'em yourself, I'm not your freakin' errand boy."

The Spy's eyes narrowed, dangerously. "_Fine_," he snapped, then turned on his heel and stalked off, muttering, "...must do _everyzing_ myself."

This was obviously not the reaction the Scout was expecting. He gaped for a moment or two, before wondering out loud, "Jeez, what's eatin' _him_?"

The older REDs exchanged a glance, and then the Engineer cleared his throat, "Looks like we'd better get going, then. You about finished?" He added, checking on the Pyro's work.

"Mmph, mmff mhh mmh mff," the Pyro replied, and pulled the mattress down flat again. It was smoking a little, but at least it didn't seem to be dripping anymore. "Mmff mh."

There was a few moments of shuffling, as the Heavy and the Scout stood up and started to leave. After a moment's hesitation, in the interest of not being stepped on, the Medic got up as well. The beer bottle, which had been temporarily forgotten and then knocked over in the scramble to avoid the flamethrower, decided this would be the perfect moment to get bumped in the shuffle and roll out into the middle of the floor. The Engineer glanced down at it. The Scout froze. The Medic belatedly remembered that "Hard Hat" wasn't supposed to _see_ that. _Oh damn. _Silently cursing, he steeled himself for another confrontation.

The Texan reached down and picked up the bottle. He looked at the label, and scowled. Then, to the Medic's profound relief (and some measure of guilt), he fixed his gaze on the Scout.

The Scout adopted an entirely unconvincing expression of innocence, and pointed accusingly at the Heavy.

The Engineer did not look impressed. "Uh _huh_."

"Uhhh, y'know, I should go help Spy look-" Wriggling past the Heavy, the Scout beat a hasty retreat without bothering to finish his sentence.

The Medic managed to keep himself from taking a step closer to the Heavy (and presumably safety) when the Engineer turned to look at him next, only because he realized the RED had stopped scowling. Frowning, yes, but the expression was now more thoughtful than annoyed. Without a word, the Engineer reached into a pocket, fished out a bottle opener, then popped the cap off the bottle and shoved it, unceremoniously, into the Medic's hand. Then he pushed his way past the Heavy and was gone.

He blinked at the bottle, as the Pyro pushed past (without, thankfully, so much as glancing at him). _...So, should I count zhis as gratitude, or may I refrain from throwing zhings?_ He quickly decided against it, since the only thing at hand was the bottle and, despite the fact he wasn't much of a drinker, after today he felt he deserved it. Coming out of his thoughts, he realized the Heavy had lingered a moment or two after his team mates had left. He realized it, because the big man had clapped him on the back, and nearly knocked him over.

"See?" The Heavy boomed, grinning broadly, "They like you!"

The Medic winced, straightened and readjusted his spectacles, and then stifled a sigh. _Lucky me_.


	12. Group Meeting

A/N: Aw, jeeez, you guys. You really made my day. :) I'm really glad you folks are enjoying this. And you are doing wonders for my self confidence. ;)

Just to give you guys an idea, this is about halfway (ish) through what I've got written down, and I haven't quite got to the end yet. (Though I'm close. Ish.) I don't want to catch up to the most recent stuff until I'm completely satisfied with it, but I'll try and give you guys chapters a little more often. ^^

Updated: Thanks for the feedback, folks. Edited the end just a smidge to be more clear.

* * *

The ungrateful _child_ had finally _deigned_ to help him locate the rest of the team, so it was only a matter of minutes before they were all assembled in the kitchen. Instead of taking his normal chair, the Spy remained standing, leaning against the counter and smoking casually, aware that his team mates were scrutinizing him. This meeting was, after all, rather unprecedented. Unfortunately, today was turning out to be full of unprecedented things. Like his briefing with RED Command, which, for the first time _ever_ had not been conducted by the Announcer. And now the schedule for their next engagement.

"This about the battle today?" The Sniper was watching him, intently. From his expression, he'd guessed it _wasn't_, but he was asking the obvious question anyway. "I expect the Bosses were pretty pissed."

"Zey were... disappointed," the Spy replied, which was like saying a monsoon was "just a little damp." He tapped some nonexistent ash from the end of his cigarette, and added, "But, non, zat is not ze problem."

"Then what's so friggin' important that you gotta tell us _now_?" demanded the Scout (who had edged his seat over until he was just out of arm's reach of the Engineer, for some strange reason that the Spy frankly didn't care about). "What th' hell's wrong with breakfast?"

He took a drag from his cigarette, and retorted, dryly, "I doubt you'd appreciate it if I waited until breakfast to inform you zat our next engagement is _after_ breakfast, in ze morning."

This was, as he predicted, met with some startled exclamations and no small measure of outrage. They'd always received at least one day of downtime between battles, and thus his comrades were, understandably, somewhat upset. The Sniper's voice cut through the chaos. "I bagged one of 'em." He sounded mildly annoyed, as if irked that the BLUs weren't taking his accomplishments seriously. "You're saying they're not even taking a day ta replace th' wanker?"

"Zey have not requested it. And we cannot demand extra time, ourselves, since _we_ took no casualties." He glanced at the Engineer and Scout, and added, a tad belatedly, "Fortunately."

"Those idiots are going to face us on the field of honor _shorthanded_?" The Soldier sounded outraged. "Those sorry sons of mothers are underestimating us! We obviously haven't been _thrashing_ them hard enough!"

"Or whoever's in charge finally realized those blokes 'ave been dropping like flies," the Sniper pointed out, thoughtfully. "Suppose they could 'ave arranged for a replacement b'fore 'and."

"Zat seems likely."

The Engineer sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I guess our Fearless Leaders couldn't shed some light on th' subject?"

He shook his head, though he hardly needed to. Obviously, if he'd known the answer, he wouldn't be letting them puzzle over it. Well, not this much. Probably.

"They're ransomin' the Doc back," the Scout pitched in. From his tone, he was sure he had solved the puzzle, and was not particularly pleased about it. When he saw he had everyone's attention, he shrugged, and added, "Well, it makes sense. They'd get him back just in time t' take the dead guy's place in th' next battle, wouldn't they?" Leaning forward in his chair, he eyed the Spy and demanded, "So? What's th' deal? Its been _days_, don't tell me they haven't decided somethin' _yet_."

The Spy hesitated, but only for a moment. He _had_ found the majority of the team hanging around the Medic's cell, only a few minutes ago, after all. If there was a better moment to play this particular card, he couldn't foresee it. So, he shook his head, and replied, with an air of indifference, "Ze BLUs have refused our terms. Zey have no intention of ransoming ze Medic back."

He hadn't realized that the Heavy knew how to smirk, much less smugly. Triumphantly. It was a little unnerving. Fortunately, no one else seemed to notice.

"What? Why th' hell not?!" It was possible the Scout's indignance stemmed from his theory being proven wrong. Except he sounded almost _offended_, and the Spy could easily fill in the subtext: _Why _wouldn't_ they want th' Doc back? Those morons!_

"I have no idea," the Spy shrugged dismissively, carefully skirting the truth. The Sniper was still watching him, with the intent expression that he usually pointed down the scope of his rifle. The Spy could practically read the words _What are you up to now?_ plastered on the Australian's face. He resisted the urge to answer with a smirk. There would be time for gloating later.

"They're planning on springing him," the Engineer suggested, sounding sure of himself. "They wouldn't pay us a cent if they could help it. Once we've foiled an attempt or two, they'll come around."

_Ugh_. All right, that was a logical leap, he could hardly be surprised someone had reached it. But they couldn't waste any more resources, defending the Medic from a rescue attempt that wasn't going to come. The last battle had been close---if they'd been able to set up the Sentry gun to defend the point, things might have gone differently. He didn't particularly _want_ to give so much of the game away at this juncture, but if they were going to stubbornly cling to their misinformed ideas, he was just going to have to inform them and get it over with. Still, it was like pulling teeth. "I very much doubt zat."

"Look, they're _stupid_, but they're not dumb enough to keep tryin' the same ineffectual strategy, over and over again, when its clear they're not gettin' anywhere." The Engineer made a wry face and added, "Incase you haven't _noticed_."

"Zat is not what I meant," the Spy corrected, mildly. "I meant, ze BLUs will not try to get him back. By _any_ method."

"And what makes you so sure-" But the Spy had already retrieved the envelope, and handed it over for the Engineer's perusal. The Texan frowned at him, but took the letter and opened it. Read it. Then whistled softly. "_Damn_."

"What? What?!" The Scout, apparently forgetting he was trying not to get within strangling distance of the Texan, was leaning half out of his chair, trying to get a look at the letter.

Glancing up and seeing that the rest of the team was also looking at him, expectantly, the Engineer cleared his throat and read the letter out loud.

There was a moment or two of silence. Then the Scout slumped back in his chair. "_Man_," he said, sounding awed, "That, right there? That's _cold_. I mean... holy shit."

His team mates somehow managed to convey their agreement with a resounding silence.

"Well then." The Sniper leaned back in his chair, and fixed the Spy with a calm, calculating look, before he continued, "What do the blokes in charge want us t' do with 'im?"

He could lie. He could almost certainly lie. He could tell them they'd been instructed to commandeer the Medic, considering their team lacked one and had suddenly found themselves in possession of one who was newly unaffiliated. No muss, no fuss, minimal grumbling. And they would all believe him. All of them, except for the damn _Sniper_, who would never let him get away with it. _Ah well, at least zis wont be boring._ "Zey have left zat decision up to us," he replied, instead, carefully avoiding unpleasant words like 'dispose of.'

The Sniper didn't look surprised.

"Sooo...?" The Scout asked, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair. "What're we gonna do about 'im?"

"_Kill_ him," the Soldier replied, immediately.

Without so much as shifting in his chair, the Heavy was suddenly _looming. _The Spy wasn't quite sure how he'd managed it, but, while normally the team as a whole tended to forget how big the Heavy was, suddenly the fact was impossible to ignore. Perhaps it was the way he was glaring at the Soldier.

"No," the Heavy growled, his voice menacing. The tone did not discourage argument. Rather, it seemed to suggest that argument was _encouraged_. That the Heavy was, in fact, looking forward to it, and, by the way, how many pieces did you want your spine to be in afterward?

Unfortunately, self preservation was not high on the Soldier's list of priorities. Neither was listening to dissenting voices. "He's one of the enemy!" he continued, as if the Heavy hadn't spoken. "Are we going to let that maggot get away with all the despicable, unspeakable, unpatriotic things he's done, just because those cowardly BLUs have dishonorably discharged him? No! We must take this opportunity to set things right, and get _vengeance_ for past grievances! That's what Lincoln would do!" He finally indicated he had, actually, heard the Heavy before, because he turned and growled up at the big man, "That's what any RED-blooded, freedom loving, flag waving American would do! What's it gonna be? Are you going to let your country down? _What kind of American are you?!_"

The Heavy leaned in and growled back, "I am _Russian_."

"Bah," the Soldier spat. "Commie _bastard_."

This seemed to be a good moment to interrupt, in the interest of keeping his team mates from damaging each other. The Spy cleared his throat, pointedly catching their attention. He noticed, with some glee, that the Scout and Engineer were looking rather uncertain. The Sniper was unaffected by the Soldier's rant, however, and the Pyro was as inscrutable as ever. "Zere is no need to decide _now_," he pointed out. "It is not as if he is going anywhere, and we have more important matters to attend to."

The Sniper nodded his agreement, "We've only got today to plan, so we'd better make th' most of it."

"D'you think he'd..." the Scout started, and then immediately thought better of it. When the Engineer glanced at him, inquiringly, the Scout coughed and shrugged, "Nothin', never mind. So!" He clapped his hands together, with more than his usual enthusiasm for a planning session. "Tactics! Strategy! What's th' game plan?"

As the conversation turned to the safer topic of how they were going to obliterate the other team, the Spy let himself bask in the smug glow of triumph for a few moments. He couldn't get too cocky, however. There were still many things that could go wrong, not the least that the Medic might still prove stubborn. But, things could have gone worse. And, at least he knew he could count on the Scout's vote, if only because the runner would violently oppose whatever side the Solider was on out of pure spite.

---

The BLU Pyro sat on the fringes of the little gathering, watching her team mates scheme, and _seething_. She wasn't actually listening to what they were saying, because all of her attention was on her silent chant, the ancient mantra of the Pyromaniac, passed down from generation to generation: _I must not set my team mates on fire, I must not set my team mates on fire, I must not set my team mates on fire. No matter how much I want to._

She had liked the Scout, as much as she could like someone who she wasn't allowed to set on fire. He'd been funny, and loud, and obnoxious, but in a _good_ way. Of course, she couldn't expect the rest of her so-called team mates to really care that he'd died. They'd barely knew him. But, couldn't they at least act like it had been a bad thing? But noooo, it was all "Great! Now we get a new Medic!"

How'd the Medic even get here this fast? Normally, it took a day or two for BLU Command to send replacements, but the new guy was here only a few hours after the battle ended. How did they _know_? It was as though they were expecting him to die. Someone must have been scheming something. She shot a glare at the Spy, as the most likely suspect, but of course he couldn't see it behind her mask. Normally she liked Spies (they made _hilarious_ noises when she set them on fire) but since this one was her team mate, and thus, for all intents and purposes, non-flammable, he just got on her nerves. Sitting there, scheming and plotting, and refusing to spontaneously combust.

But, really, she couldn't blame _him_ for the Scout's death, as much as she might want to. This time, it was all their Sniper's fault. Honestly, it was like he didn't know what the word "teamwork" meant. As soon as this was all over, she was transferring as far away from this stupid team as she could get.

Still, the new guys weren't _that_ bad. (Except for the Medic, who she had decided to hate with a fiery, fiery passion, simply because he wasn't _her_ Medic and was thus vastly inferior.) The Engineer, in particular, was really hard to dislike. Then again, he could build a machine that, if she hooked up to it, would let her create a wall of flame pretty much indefinitely, so maybe she was biased. The Demoman wasn't that bad, either, for someone who couldn't stagger in a straight line at the best of times. The Heavy was thick as a post, though, and acting so smug about their new Medic that she was sure he wasn't going to share. Which was fine by her. The new Medic probably didn't even know that his Medigun would actually work on someone besides a Heavy Weapon's Guy, anyway, the stupid jerk.

The Engineer started talking. She caught something about "Sentry deployment," so she guessed he'd gotten tired of listening to everyone else gush about their new healer and was trying to steer the conversation towards actual defense strategy. _Yeah, good luck with that._

The Sniper displayed obvious disinterest, and after a minute or so, excused himself and wandered off. The Engineer stubbornly kept on trying to get the rest interested, but it soon became obvious only the Demoman was paying any attention. She watched them for a minute or two, thoughtfully. She'd really like to get through this alive---there were still so many things in the world that she hadn't yet set on fire. Survival would be easier to achieve if she had somebody she could rely on. That somebody wasn't going to be the Heavy, or the New Medic, or the Spy, and it certainly wasn't going to be the Sniper.

The Engineer was starting to trail off, looking discouraged. She got up and moved over to plunk herself down between him and the Demoman. "I'll protect your Sentry Gun, if you build me another Dispenser," she announced, though it came out "Mph mmmph mmh Mmphfh Mhh, mf mmh mmh mm mhhmhfhf Mhhmhhffhh."

The Engineer won a few more points, because he actually seemed to understand after only a second or two to translate. "Alright. That worked right enough before, until their Soldier came along." He turned to the Demoman, and added, "Think you could give us a hand, protecting the point?"

"Aie dunnao," the cyclops admitted, uncertainly. "Th' Aussie might want me tae deal wi' _their_ Engineer agin..."

She growled her opinion of the Sniper and where he could shove his plans. Even through the mask, her companions got the idea. The Engineer chuckled, dryly. The Demoman smirked, and then nodded, slowly. "Seems tae me yeu two could use th' help more, aye? Got tae protect th' point!"

No one said _Why should we listen to somebody who'll just get us killed?_ No one had to.

"I don't suppose our _offense_ has a plan?" the Engineer asked, glancing over at the Heavy and the Medic, who weren't even pretending to pay attention anymore. The Spy had already slipped off.

"Let the Sniper figure that out," she suggested, "He's so good at planning, after all."

There was the obligatory few second pause as her new potential-friends tried to work out what she'd just said, then some grim nods.

The Demoman cleared his throat, and then raised his bottle of whiskey to her. "Aie meant t' say... Sorry 'bout yeur Scout friend, aye?"

She nodded, sadly. The Scout, the Medic... She'd lost all her old friends, here in this stupid place, with these stupid people. Well, she wasn't going to lose her new ones. She'd make sure of it, even if it meant setting the Sniper on fire. _Especially_ if it meant setting the Sniper on fire. "Thanks."


	13. Fallout

A/N: In which there is some exposition, a scuffle, and more Scout, for you Scout-fans. :) Meanwhile, the Spy continues to unfold his master plan, and the Sniper decides to be "helpful." (And Team Fortress 2, of course, belongs to Valve)

---

It was hours before the REDs were satisfied with their strategy, and the Scout had been bored long before that. Their offensive strategy never got more complicated than "You, and you, go this way, while you and _you_ go _that_ way," which meant most of the time they spent on it was mostly telling him stuff he already knew. "Flank when you can, watch out for Sentries" etc, etc. The rest of the time, they talked defense. He listened long enough to figure out where the Dispenser was going to be set up, and then spaced out.

His thoughts darted down tangents, leapt from subject to subject, but always, inevitably, kept doubling back to the BLU.... the_ ex_-BLU Medic. The Doc really wasn't half bad, which was a strange thing to think about somebody who, just yesterday, he'd been hoping he'd get to kill. It hadn't been _personal_, but, c'mon, he was a RED, the other guy was a BLU... Killing each other was right there in th' job description. 'Cept, now, he didn't want to. Fortunately, the Doc wasn't a BLU anymore, but even before he'd known that, he hadn't wanted to. (Well, much. The whole knee-jerk "kill all BLUs" thing was hard to just drop, alright?) 'Course, it was hard to get really mad at somebody who'd just given you your legs back, practically, especially if running was your freakin' _life_, man, and what th' hell were you supposed t' do if you couldn't? (You'd hafta be pretty badass to kick ass in a wheelchair, and while he was pretty sure he was more than badass enough to pull it off, he was really, really glad he didn't have to find out.) And it was _really_ confusing when said person was somebody you'd been obviously, loudly, and repeatedly expressing interest in killing. To their face. _I mean, what th' hell, man. Can't th' guy hold a freakin' grudge? What th' hell._

At least the Doc wasn't a BLU anymore. _And_ he could vote against killing the guy without looking like a wuss, because everyone would think he was doing it just to irritate their dumbass Soldier. _And_ the Heavy was on the Doc's side already, so that was two votes... He wasn't sure about Hard Hat, though. The Doc had broken some of his stupid crap, which the Engineer been really touchy about lately, but the Texan might have cooled down by now. If he could convince Hard Hat to vote against killing the Doc, then all he'd need to do was bribe their Pyro before the Soldier did, and there was a majority. _Good plan._

"Good plan," agreed the Engineer, startling the Scout out of his thoughts. "But it might be time t' get some shut eye, unless we're fixing on sleepwalking through the next battle."

There was a general mutter of agreement for this suggestion, and everyone started pushing their chairs back and getting up. While most of the crew started filing off in the direction of their separate quarters, the Spy slipped off in the opposite direction. The Scout figured he was probably sneaking off to lurk in a dark corner somewhere, or practice smug faces in the mirror, or whatever the hell the smarmy bastard did in his free time. When the Sniper trailed after the Spy, a few moments later, the Scout was unsurprised. Being sneaky might have been the Spy's favorite past time, but annoying the heck out of the Spy was the Sniper's. But, while the thought of tagging along just to watch them snark at each other was entertaining, the Scout figured he should probably ease up on the Spy for awhile. The guy _had_ hauled him back to base, after he'd been shot, and it might not be a good idea to start making him wonder _why _he had done such a thing. You wanted to encourage that sort of teamwork in your pals, after all. Never mind that the Scout had stuck his neck out for the Spy a time or two, and figured they were probably about even now, but whatever.

Anyway, he had other, more important things to do besides pick a fight with the Spy. Like pick a fight with the Soldier.

No, wait, that wasn't the plan. Sure, it'd be _fun_, but, c'mon. Priorities. First things first, he had to figure out what to bribe Pyro with. The creepy masked maniac was, essentially, the team's tie breaker, because he usually didn't give a damn about anything he couldn't set on fire. On issues that split the team, it became a race to see who could get the Pyromaniac what he wanted, first. Usually, this was just things to burn, or things to help him burn other things. But, occasionally, you could tempt him with other equally valuable, if somewhat unorthodox, forms of "currency."

It wasn't hard to catch up with the Pyro, not for someone as fast as the Scout. He hadn't even got halfway down the hall when the Scout screeched to a stop by his elbow. "Yo, Pyro!"

Their Pyro stopped and turned to stare at the Scout. At first, the younger man had been pretty creeped out by the nutcase and his gasmask, but eventually, you got used to the inhuman stare and the silence. It got to the point where he thought he could kind of read the Pyro's 'expression', though it could just be his imagination, o'course. This time, for instance, the stare looked expectant. The Scout jogged in place as he made his pitch. "When it comes t' a vote, y'know, 'bout the Doc... If you vote against Capt'n America back there, I'll, uh, I won't bug ya at _all_ for, say, three weeks. Not even a little. Completely outta yer hair." He paused, eyed the gasmask, and added, "Well, y'know what I mean."

The Pyro seemed to consider this, then shook his head and started back down the hall.

He caught up easily. "Hey, waitaminute, I'm open ta negotiatin' here-"

"Traitor!" barked the Soldier, directly behind them. "Attempting to subvert soldiers from carrying out their honorable duty is a capital offense, private! And I'll double whatever this freedom-hating maggot offers," he added, to the Pyro, at a volume slightly below his usual bellow.

The Scout spun on his heel, already snarling, "Wait yer freakin' turn, dumbass, I got here first! 'Sides, I'm not subvertin' _nothin'_, our job's killing _BLUs_, th' Doc's a freakin' civilian now." He barely refrained from adding a _So nyah_. It was hard enough being the youngest guy on the freakin' team, without acting like he was a kid off some playground. He'd never live it down.

"He wears the uniform, that makes him a BLU!" the Soldier bellowed. "He and his kind have fought against the REDs since the dawn of time! They're slimy, miserable scumbags, who were put on this earth to get wiped off of it by us! And we would be lax in our duty to our nation and our forefathers if we let even one of the maggots weasel out of his inevitable demise!"

"You. Are. A. _Lunatic!_" the Scout shot back. They were practically nose to nose now, spitting in each other's faces. "There's not even any point in arguin' with you, you're such a friggin' moron. I bet you honestly think Washington was a ninja, or somethin', you stupid sonnuvabi-."

"You leave our nation's founder and his samurai skills out of this, maggot!" the Soldier snarled, cutting him off. "This is about you and your co-conspirator, the baby eating, soul stealing, goose-stepping Kraut _quack_, you traitorous, scum sucking _little girl_."

He lunged for the Soldier, but their team mates knew them too well, and the Pyro was hauling him back before he could even get a good swing in. The Engineer, who had caught up while he and the Soldier were busy screaming in each other's faces, was holding the Scout's opponent back, and growling that it was "Too damn late at night for this." Looming behind the Engineer, the Heavy was watching the proceedings with mild amusement, and without any obvious interest in interfering, at least for the moment.

---

It was late enough, when the Spy finally had a chance to check on the Medic, that he half expected the doctor to be asleep. And, when he glanced through the window, this was his first impression. Then he noticed the other man's mouth was moving and, when he listened carefully, he could hear the Medic muttering to himself. If the Spy's German hadn't gone rusty on him (and he knew it hadn't), it sounded as though the Medic was listing off various "_atemwegsbeschwerden_"---respiratory ailments. Well, the Spy supposed that was _one_ way to pass the time, certainly, though it didn't seem particularly interesting to _him_. He knocked.

The muttering stopped. There was an irritated sigh, and then, "Vhat are you expecting me to do, let you in? Zhe door is locked on _your side,_ dummkopf_._"

He was pleased to note the exasperation in the Medic's tone. He was sounding a little more like his old self, rather than someone who thought he'd just received a death sentence. Getting him to sever his ties to the BLUs was one thing, but horribly crushing his spirit and grinding it into the dirt would have been overdoing things, just a tad. "You could invite me in," he pointed out, opening the door.

"You'd come in, anyvay."

"True. Its still polite to knock."

The Medic snorted. He didn't look over at the Spy. Talking as if he was addressing the ceiling, he abruptly switched subjects. "How did zhey take it?"

It was a shot in the dark, the Spy knew. It had to be. There was no way the Medic could know that he'd told his team mates about the BLUs' response. Which meant he was just fishing. It was, however, a good guess, and deserved an answer. Not the _real_ answer, of course, because he didn't want the Medic to waste his time worrying about what the REDs would decide to do with him---which was obviously why he was asking. No, the Spy needed him to decide what to do with _himself_, now that he was officially unaffiliated. So, he opened his mouth to lie... half a second too late.

"Not bad," came the reply, from outside the cell. "Only one of 'em wanted ta kill ya, but that was th' Soldier, so that's to be expected. I wouldn't worry about it too much." The Medic sat up, startled, as the Sniper stepped in. The Australian tipped his hat to the doctor, adding, "Evenin', mate."

_I am going to kill him._ He didn't allow himself to actually glare at the Sniper, because it wouldn't do to let the doctor see it. Instead, he merely fantasized about his comrade's gruesome death. _I am going to slit his throat, zen steal his damn hat, and use it to do mocking impersonations of him over his corpse._ The Medic was eyeing the Sniper, cautiously, but since this seemed to be his default expression when dealing with the REDs he hadn't had much contact with, the Spy decided he probably hadn't noticed any of the sudden tension in the room. _What is he up to?_

The Sniper's expression was his usual deadpan, except when he nodded a greeting to the Spy. Then, there was the faintest hint of a smirk, that quite clearly said _Can't let you 'ave all the fun, mate._

"I feel very reassured," the Medic replied, dryly, "Danke." His expression added, warily, _Vhat do you vant?_

The Sniper responded to the unspoken question, getting right to the point. "Felt I should drop by and apologize."

The Spy resisted the urge to kick his companion, reminding himself that the Sniper wouldn't sabotage the Spy's plans, so long as they were still in the interest of the team. Probably. The Australian, unlike the Scout, wasn't the sort to cause random chaos simply because 'he was bored.' But it was _very_ hard to see how this would help...

---

_They're damn well doin' this on purpose. _Struggling to keep the Soldier pinioned, the Engineer narrowly missed getting a face full of combat helmet. _Lookin' for any damn excuse_ _ta light inta each other._ He had a theory that the Scout and the Soldier didn't hate each other nearly as much as they let on. On the contrary: they fought so much, they _had_ to be enjoying it. So, bearing this in mind, it was hard to resist the temptation to just walk away and let them sort it out amongst themselves.

Of course, they'd probably do some serious damage to each other before they were through, and what with the upcoming battle, that would be darned inconvenient. Which meant there was only one thing to do.

Still wrestling with the Soldier, he glanced up at the Heavy, who was overseeing things. "Hey there, big fella," he managed, trying to keep his tone polite. "I don't suppose you'd lend us a hand, straightenin' these two out, wouldja?"

The Heavy nodded, without giving the matter a second thought. Apparently he'd just been waiting for an invitation. He set Sasha down, carefully, and then reached over and grabbed the Soldier by the back of the neck, lifting the man off his feet. Then he walked over to where their Pyro was struggling with the Scout, and lifted the runner up in a similar manner. And then smashed the two together.

The Engineer winced at the impact, but couldn't help but feel justifiably satisfied. At least it managed to shut them both up, for a minute or two.

The Soldier, with his superior head protection, managed to keep his feet once the Heavy had let them both go, though he seemed to be having considerable difficulty standing up straight, and stumbled over to lean against the wall in a way that didn't look entirely of his own volition. The Scout, on the other hand, fell over as soon as he wasn't being held up anymore. Unfortunately, the experience hadn't managed to shut him up: the second he was down, he started spewing half-coherent insults at the Heavy from his spot on the floor.

The Heavy ignored him, and turned back to the Engineer. "Better?"

"Yep. Much obliged." With a nod, he turned to his belligerent teammates, as the Heavy promptly went to retrieve his gun, murmuring apologies to it. "Boys, I don't rightly know, or care, what you two are arguin' about, but don'tcha think it can wait 'til _after_ our dustup with the BLUs tomorrow?"

The unruly pair chorused a very negative (if somewhat dazed) sounding grumble.

"Don't make me get my big friend here ta knock your thick heads together again," he warned.

This time their mutter had distinct tones of "Bah, we can take 'im." The credibility of this statement was somewhat undermined by the fact that neither of them could stand up without assistance.

The Engineer heaved a sigh, and turned to the Pyro. "Don't suppose you'd avoid these two until tomorrow? We don't need ta give 'em any more encouragement."

The Pyro laughed, but nodded, and left.

That taken care of, he grabbed the Soldier by the arm and started to steer him towards the man's quarters. _Why do I always feel like I'm raising a pack of teenagers, with this crew?_ He nudged the Scout with his foot as they passed. "I'll be back fer you in a minute."

"I will take him," the Heavy offered, and effortlessly scooped the Scout up and tossed him over his shoulder.

The Engineer chuckled at the sight. "Much obliged."

"Bastard," the Scout muttered, his voice muffled by the Heavy's shoulder.


	14. Fallout, Part Deux

A/N: So, really, this and the previous chapter was one long sequence, but it was a tad long to be a single chapter, the way I've been doing 'em, and there was no nice even break right in the middle so... if you felt the last one was a tad shorter than average, this one is a tad longer. So, without further ado: Part deux, pour vous. Enjoy?

* * *

When the Sniper didn't immediately continue, the Medic eyed him, apprehensively, and prompted, "For...?"

"From what I understand, the BLU Scout was a mate of yours," the Sniper answered, his tone neutral.

It took a moment for the meaning of the words to sink in. _"Was a mate of yours." Past tense._ He felt numb. _Gottverdammt. I should have been zhere..._ Then his expression hardened. There would be time for guilt and mourning later, and frankly, he didn't want to get caught up in either with these two studying him. Or anyone else, for that matter. "Vhy would you apologize. I expect...," he said, carefully, removing any hint of emotion from the words, "zhat you were just doing your job." _And I vasn't doing mine._

"True," the Sniper nodded, expression and tone still neutral. "'E was about to cap the point. If I 'adn't taken the shot, 'e would've run down my mates before they could get clear." He paused, then added, "Still! I doubt that means anything t' you. So, you 'ave my apologies, Doc." He didn't sound apologetic, but neither did he sound insincere. And certainly not sarcastic. It was... professional. Polite. He seemed to mean what he was saying: even if he didn't feel any real remorse, he acknowledged his responsibility.

_Vell, good for him. Zhat makes it all better, ja?_ But, the words "run down my mates" kept repeating themselves, over and over, in his head. If the BLU Scout had succeeded in capturing the point, and thus winning the 'round', the Medic had to admit he probably would have chased the nearest REDs down. The losing team's weapons had the disturbing tendency to jam, run out of ammo, or simply fail to work during those agonizing minutes between a point's capture and the beginning of the cease fire, and the winning team always jumped on the opportunity to take part in a little wholesale slaughter. And the Scout had had plenty of not-so-pent up aggression he would have loved to take out on the REDs. Someone would have died.

Who would it have been? Who did the REDs put on defense? Their Engineer, certainly. Obviously the Sniper... who else? _Does it matter? _Thinking uncomfortably of the RED Heavy, he had to admit that it did.

_Verdammt, vhat does he vant? A pat on zhe back?_ _"Zhanks for feeling sorry, for killing mein comrade"?_ Well, tough. He set his jaw. "Don't apologize. You vould do it again, I'm sure, if you got zhe chance."

---

The Spy was startled to realize that the Sniper looked almost... chagrined. Not so that the Medic would notice, of course, but he was very good at reading the gunman. Catching the his companion's eye, he shot him a look that said _You couldn't possibly have been expecting him to forgive you. _

_Of course not,_ the Sniper retorted, silently. _Don't be an idiot._

_Zen what, pray tell, are you up to?_

_Trust me._

Well, he certainly wasn't going to dignify _that_ with a response. He turned his attention back to the Medic, who was still not-quite glaring at the Sniper. The Sniper nodded, apparently unconcerned. "True enough." Tipping his hat, he turned as if to leave, then paused, as if he'd just noticed the fixed sink, despite the fact the Spy knew he couldn't possibly have missed it. To the Spy, he remarked, conversationally, "Looks like Truckie stopped by."

Recognizing the Sniper's nickname for their Engineer, the Spy shrugged, casually. "And ze Scout. And ze Pyro."

"Pyro?" The Sniper actually sounded a tad surprised. "Really? What for?"

The Spy shrugged, "I honestly have no idea." Then he quirked an inquiring brow at the Medic.

A pause, and then, somewhat grudgingly, the Medic explained, "Zhey... brought him in to dry off zhe bunk."

The Sniper looked bemused. "And 'e didn't set it on fire?"

The Spy smirked, "Obviously not."

"Hm." Then, with a dismissive shrug, the Sniper tipped his hat to the Medic again. "Doc," he said, politely, then nodded amiably to the Spy, adding "Bloody wanker" in the same tone, and strolled out.

The Medic watched him go, frowning. "I'm surprised you haven't tried to kill him, yet," he muttered, dryly.

Perhaps the Medic hadn't been quite as oblivious to the tension as the Spy had thought. Or... _Could it be possible, he's actually making a joke?_ He kept forgetting the Medic had a rather dry sense of humor, much less a sense of humor at all. "I have been tempted," he admitted, with a smirk.

From somewhere around the corner, out of sight, he heard the Sniper snort, almost imperceptibly.

Ignoring this, he added, with some genuine sounding sympathy, "I _am_ sorry about your Scout friend."

The Medic sighed, wearily, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are not."

This was not entirely true. He regretted the incident, if only because it was detrimental to his plans. Never mind that it was their job---when he was trying to encourage the Medic to _like_ the REDs, it was counterproductive to have his teammates slaughtering the Medic's former companions. Of course, he couldn't say this to the Medic. "Very well, shall we say zat... while I don't regret zat my teammates' lives were saved, I am sorry zat one of yours had to die for zat to be possible?"

"Zhey are not my teammates anymore," the Medic pointed out, softly, as if that could possibly matter to him.

"I am sorry about zat, as well."

"Liar," the Medic snorted. Then he looked up at the Spy, suddenly scowling, and growled, "Und I am _still_ not joining your team."

_Oh, indeed? _The Spy hid a smirk."I don't zink anyone's suggested it," he replied, smoothly. "Except for ze Heavy, of course... but I'm sure he wont be _too_ disappointed."

"Good," the other man said, firmly. Then his scowl slipped somewhat. "You... really told zhem? Ah, zhat zhe BLUs..."

_No sense in denying it now. _"Fired you? Yes." When the doctor winced slightly, the Spy admonished, "Oh, please. I said I'd get you out of zis alive, didn't I? You might have just a _little_ faith in me."

The Medic sighed, again. "I am trying. It vould help if I had zhe faintest idea vhat you were up to," he added, dryly. "I don't suppose you actually have a plan?"

He managed to look insulted. "Of course."

"Zhat you're villing to _tell_ me about?"

The Spy tried not to grin. "You'll just have to trust me."

"Yes," the Medic grumbled, "I zhought you vould say zhat."

He smirked, and straightened, abruptly changing the subject. "If zere is nozing else? Zen I should be getting some rest... We have _another_ battle in ze morning."

The doctor couldn't possibly have looked more surprised if the Spy had told him the Announcer was going to show up in person, and dance naked on their Control Point. "Vhat? But we... zhe BLUs... zhey aren't going to replace zhe Scout?"

"I couldn't tell you," the Spy shrugged. "But zey have not requested ze time."

"Vhy aren't zhe REDs ordering some down time, zhen? Even if zhe BLUs don't request it-"

"Because ze BLUs won zis round. Zey get to set ze time of our next engagement."

He'd been wrong. The doctor _could _actually look more surprised. "...Sie _gewann?_" the Medic managed, finally, his usually commendable grasp on the English language abruptly failing him, "Du machst wohl Witze!"

"I wouldn't joke about somezing like zis."

The Medic gaped at him for a moment more, and then leaned back against the wall and laughed. It was a short, bitter bark of a laugh, one that plainly said _Without me. They won without me._ The BLUs hadn't needed him. Not only did they not _want_ him, but they didn't _need_ him, either.

Occasionally, the Soldier would bully his teammates into sitting down and watching American football on the television. And, occasionally, when one team or the other managed to make something called a 'touchdown', the player responsible would perform some ridiculous little dignity shattering victory dance. The Spy would never, ever, _ever_ indulge in such a vulgar display, himself---the very thought was repugnant---but he was reminded of the practice just now because if he _had_ been the sort of person to do so, this would have definitely been the moment for it.

Except for the whole 'displaying triumph at an inappropriate moment and thus showing your hand too early' part. Nevertheless, the point was moot. He worked to keep the maniacal glee from his expression and tone as he arched a brow. "You find zis funny?" he inquired, adopting a mildly irritated tone (an easy thing to learn, if you lived for any amount of time on the same base as a Scout), as if he didn't have the faintest idea what the Medic was laughing about.

"Nein," the doctor replied, smiling grimly, "Don't mind me."

The Spy _hmmph_ed, as if unconvinced.

"It's late," the other man pointed out, obviously in no mood to try an explain the 'joke.' "Don't let me keep you."

He let the irritated mask slide, marginally, as he nodded. "Quite. Goodnight, Doctor." With a dismissive wave, he turned to go. "Sleep well."

"You, as well." A pause. "And for God's sake," the Medic grumbled, "_don't die_, vould you?"

The Spy tried to look genuinely insulted, but couldn't quite keep the grin off of his face. "Of _course_ not. What kind of amateur do you take me for?"

The Medic snorted and settled back down on the bunk, resting his head next to his Medigun. "My apologies," he deadpanned. "I must have confused you vith some uzzer Spy I found lying half dead in zhe gutter, zhen. I am terribly sorry."

"I should certainly hope so," the Spy sniffed, haughtily, and shut the door behind him.

---

The world was still spinning when the Heavy dropped the Scout onto his bunk. "Ow!" he grumbled, though it hadn't even remotely hurt. "Friggin' watch it, would ya?"

"So. When it comes to vote, you will to be voting against killing leetle doktor, da?" The Heavy was not quite looming. He was just standing there, looking huge and carrying a really big freakin' gun, which pretty much amounted to the same thing.

"You threatenin' me?" the Scout demanded, trying to sound tough for someone who was seeing double.

"No. You want that I should?"

The Scout growled and struggled to sit up, but then gave both up as a lost cause. It wasn't like he needed persuading, anyway, and as much as he liked a good fight, he knew when not to pick one, too. "Yeah, okay, I'll vote not ta kill the Doc. Was gonna do it anyway," he muttered, and added, for the show of things, "It'd piss the Soldier off."

The Heavy nodded, satisfied. "And... if it comes to vote, you would not be against him joining team... da?"

_Whoa_. _Waitaminute there._ Alright, so, the thought had occurred to him, but he'd immediately dropped it as being too stupid for words. Of course the Doc wouldn't want to join up. He was a BLU. Well, used to be a BLU. He wouldn't join the REDs, that was like... against the laws of nature, or physics, or something. The Heavy was just pulling his leg, he had to be. "The Doc's not gonna join our team," he retorted, "Don't be a moron."

"You are so sure about that?" the Heavy replied. He sounded smug. The big, thick bastard actually sounded smug, like he knew something the Scout didn't. It was like he was talking to the Spy, all of a sudden. Well, if the Spy had spontaneously become huge, dumb, and Russian, and had taken off that stupid mask he always wore to reveal he was actually bald. On second thought, it really wasn't that much like he was talking to the Spy. Or, at all.

The Scout eyed him, suspiciously. "Well, yeah... I mean... look, its a stupid idea, nobody's gonna go for it." Even if it _would _be kinda handy, having somebody around to patch them up after a fight. But no, that was _stupid_, the Doc wasn't going to turn around and help them kill the BLUs. _He_ sure wouldn't, if he was in the same position. _'Cept... They did kick him out, for no good reason. Heck, if they gave us their answer yesterday, we prob'ly would've killed 'im already. He's gotta be pretty pissed off at 'em. _But, still, it wasn't going to work, because this was the _Heavy's_ plan. The Heavy didn't _make_ plans, and there was a friggin' good reason for that, which was that he was _thick_. Oh, sure, it probably made sense in his head, but out here, in the real world-

The Heavy glanced at the door, and then leaned forward, conspiratorially. "Spy thinks it will work."

_That_ made him sit up, even if the whole room lurched and spun for a second or two afterwards. "_Spy_'s going ta get him to join? Seriously?"

The Heavy nodded, firmly. He obviously didn't have a doubt in his mind, and the Scout couldn't really blame him. If there was any chance the Doc could be convinced, then the Spy was the one who could convince him. _But why the hell's the Spy on our side, anyway? What's he gonna get outta it?_

"Well... Yeah. Okay, then. _If_ we vote on it, and the Doc's up for it. Which is a pretty friggin' big if, if ya ask me."

"Good." With a grin, the Heavy turned and headed for the door, humming cheerfully. With a groan, the Scout flopped back down on his bunk. While he waited for the world to stop spinning again, he did a quick tally. Him, the Heavy, the Spy... He'd hafta start pestering Hard Hat tomorrow. If the Scout annoyed him enough, Hard Hat would agree to anything just to get him to go away.

---

The Spy wasn't surprised to find the Sniper waiting for him around the corner, and didn't bother to slow his stride as he passed him, or wipe the smirk off his face. His comrade easily fell into step beside him, and muttered, "So that's why you're so interested in what 'appens to the bloke. Not like you, mate."

The Spy ignored this. Loudly. Pointedly. When the Sniper seemed content to let the observation continue hanging in the air, he firmly changed the subject, "If you are going to stick your enormous nose into my schemes, you might at least _attempt_ to be subtle about it."

"That _was_ subtle, ya git. Just because a bloke can occasionally 'old a conversation without subtext doesn't mean 'e can't be a sneaky bastard, too."

"Hmph. I'm surprised you didn't just shout 'I'm tryin' ta gauge yore reaction, mate!' and get it over with."

The Sniper smirked, smugly, "So that's what ya think I was doing, issit?"

"Among other zings, I'm sure," he replied, his tone patronizing. "Zat was _very_ clever. For ze next battle, would you like to try your hand at my job? I'd be more zen happy to hide up in ze battlements all day, in your place."

"You? Snipe? With that little pea shooter of yours? Good luck with that, mate."

They'd be bantering back and forth all night, at this rate. Normally, this would have been almost agreeable, but it was late, he was tired, and if the Sniper continued to tamper with the Spy's delicate manipulations, he could still cause serious harm. "_Stay out of zis_," he snapped, abandoning his amused tone. "I am sure you find it most entertaining, but I will tell ze Heavy we have you to blame, if zis-"

"You 'ave 'im," the Sniper interrupted. His tone was softer, but still conversational. "I dunno 'ow ya did it, but you 'ad 'im this morning. Probably before." The Spy quirked a brow, skeptically, and the Sniper continued, "Yesterday, Truckie slugs the man over a broken sink, and today? Today, the Medic fixes 'im up without a bleedin' word of protest, because you bloody well _asked 'im to._"

"Zat means nozing," the Spy shook his head, dismissively. "He believes we are conspiring-"

"Yep, I heard. Which means 'e trusts you." The Sniper made a disgusted noise. "_You._ What kind of bloody lunatic trusts _you_?"

"If you zink he trusts me, zen I have obviously been giving you too much credit," the Spy replied, disdainfully. "He more zen half expects me to throw him to ze Soldier, or perhaps ze Pyro, when I have 'got what I want' from him."

"Of 'course 'e does. 'Is own team just left 'im twistin' in the wind, what's 'e going ta expect from us?" The Sniper shook his head, and a note of irritation crept in to his tone, "But 'e's followin' your lead. I would've thought 'e'd need persuading, ta get 'im to fix up Truckie and th' little hooligan, but nah. You _ask_ 'im, and its all business. Not a single complaint. Just did 'is job, didn't even try and make 'em squirm."

It was obvious this was really bothering him, though the Spy couldn't be sure if it was that the Sniper thought he'd been mistaken in his previous predictions, or if it was the mere fact that the Spy was winning (Smirksmirk). There was something about the way he'd put that last bit, that reminded the Spy of their previous conversation, as well. He cast a sidelong glance at the Sniper. "Yes... Very professional, non?"

"Hnnn," The Sniper growled, and the Spy knew he'd "struck paydirt," as their Engineer would put it. "Ya smug blighter."

He would have smirked at that, except they'd almost reached the Sniper's quarters and there wasn't time for that luxury just now, not if he wanted all of his questions answered. "I take it your curiosity was well satisfied, zen?" When his companion didn't immediately reply, he continued, "You were testing him, of course. What do you zink of him, now?"

"I wasn't testing 'im," the Sniper replied, with a shrug.

"Indeed? Pull ze uzzer one."

The Sniper shook his head, "I figured he might need some reminding."

"Of what, pray tell?"

"We know 'e came 'ere with four other blokes, to replace the old BLUs, right? We've already accounted for three of 'em-"

"And I still do not see how it would be helpful to remind him of _zat_-"

"I was _reminding _'im," the Sniper continued, pointedly, "That 'e's just got one mate over there, now---if th' wanker was 'is friend, t'begin with." They'd reached his door. The Sniper paused, significantly, with one hand on the knob, and added, "'E's got five, over 'ere."

The Spy did a quick mental headcount, and arched a brow. "Five?"

The Sniper smirked, ever so slightly, then tipped his hat and shut the door, firmly, in the Spy's face.

_Zis,_ the Spy noted, contemplating the wood grain of the Sniper's door with a smug smirk, _has been a good day. _

_...Except for ze humiliating defeat, of course. But never mind zat._


	15. Dun dun DUN

A/N: Enter action sequences! Hopefully huzzah? Because what, really, is Team Fortress 2 without tasty tasty violence, and this is the tip of the proverbial iceberg... mwa ha ha.

* * *

The Medic was irritated to realize he was getting _used_ to being startled out of his sleep, waking up a second or two after his body had scrambled into a sitting position without waiting for him. This morning, it was because someone was rapping on the window to his cell. Groggily, he turned to glare at the intruder, and a shiver went up his spine that did more to jolt him into alertness than any amount of coffee could possibly hope to.

The RED Pyro was staring through the glass at him.

Pyros, he'd decided long ago, were practically built to be unsettling. You could get past that first impression, certainly, but the fact remained that no one had a more unnerving stare than a Pyro did, should he (or she) choose to utilize it. Not all of them did, of course. The BLU Pyro had been---no, no, undoubtedly still was, she hadn't died yet, as far as he knew---somewhat more sociable. But the RED Pyro was another story.

It didn't help that he couldn't begin to guess what the Pyro was thinking. The RED had been the one to capture him in the first place, after all, but once they'd brought him back to their base, the Pyro'd more or less ignored the Medic, except for occasionally showing up to stare at him. Of course, his imagination happily offered up some suggestions: He was plotting the Medic's grisly murder; he was fantasizing about setting the Medic on fire; et cetera, et cetera.

They stared at each other for a moment or two, until, abruptly, the Pyro lifted one hand and flashed the Medic a cheerful thumbs up. Then, wthout further ceremony, he turned and trotted up the stairs that would lead him out of the base.

The Medic blinked. With a groan, he scrubbed a hand over his face. "Vell, zhat's just fantastic," he remarked to the world in general. "Because, zhings have not been nearly confusing enough lately. I vas getting vorried, zhat perhaps I might actually start to figure out vhat zhe hell is going on..."

A minute later or so, the Heavy showed up with a plate of breakfast, and his gun. When he noticed the Medic eyeing the latter somewhat warily, the Heavy boomed, "Ah! That is right, you have not met Sasha!"

"Not... formally," he agreed, deciding not to mention he'd had it pointed in his direction a time or two on the battlefield. Back when things made sense.

"Sasha," the Heavy intoned, gravely, "This is the Doktor. Doktor, this is Sasha."

This, at least, was the sort of insanity he could deal with. Simple. Easy to work out. Mundane. "Nice to meet you, Sasha," he replied, seriously.

The Heavy nodded, satisfied, and then warned, "No one touches her, but me."

"I vouldn't dream of it."

"Yo, big guy!" The Scout skidded to a stop at the Heavy's elbow and prodded the appendage impatiently, "We gotta get a move on!"

The Heavy gave the Scout a look that suggested pain unless the young man stopped poking him _this instant_, but grunted an agreement. The Scout darted out of the Russian's way, and then made as if to close the cell door. With a surreptitious glance over his shoulder, as if to make sure no one was watching, he fished a rolled up magazine out of his satchel and shoved it in the Medic's direction.

"Figuredyoumightgetboredorsomethin'," the Scout muttered.

He considered refusing, out of principle, but even as the thought crossed his mind, he'd reached out to accept it. "Danke."

"Yeah, well," the Scout mumbled. Not waiting for a reply, the younger man quickly shut the door and sprinted off.

He took the magazine and his breakfast back to his bunk and sat down. Further inspection of the magazine showed it was a copy of _Sports Illustrated_, the cover proclaiming it had an article about someone named Ted Williams, "On The Science of Hitting."

Soon, it became obvious that the rest of the REDs were finding excuses to take this particular route out of their base, because most of them trickled past in the next few minutes. Fortunately, however, while the Sniper did touch the brim of his hat, politely, as he passed, no one else stopped for a chat.

Then they were gone.

He ate his breakfast, and set the empty plate aside. He got a drink. He stared at the ceiling for awhile, and counted the tiles. Finally, he gave up and started flipping idly through the magazine, in an attempt to distract himself from the nagging, incessant worry that was growing in the back of his mind. _Who is going to die today? Vhich one of zhem vill I have to piece back togezzer?_

_---  
_

It was shaping up to be one of those days.

"-c'mon, it was just a _sink_, its not like he _meant_ to break it, right, so the way I see it, you really oughta give 'im another chance, he's not half bad, and its not like he's a BLU anymore-"

"Son," the Engineer tried to interject, as patiently as he could, considering the circumstances.

"-Heck, I think the BLUs might be trying t' get him killed, or at least the guys pulling all the strings over there are, I dunno about the BLUs themselves, 'cos I guess they weren't the ones who fired him, but they haven't even tried to get him back or anything either, so-"

"_Son_," he tried again, with a little more force. He knew the Scout was doing this to him on purpose. No one could possibly talk that much all at once, unless they were _trying_ to be annoying.

"-they must've given up on him, too, which kinda sucks for him, y'know, but they're BLUs so what'd ya expect? And half their team is new anyway, so most of 'em probably don't even know who he is, right, and-"

"Scout!" An arrow zipped by overhead, just as his Sentry Gun whirred to life and rained destruction down upon the spot the BLU Sniper had been standing, just a moment earlier. "_Tarnation,_ kid, we don't have time for this right now!" He absently checked his Sentry's ammo, before turning his attention back on the Scout, who was crouched by his Dispenser. The Heavy was standing nearby, hooked up to the machine, and filling the only entrance to the little nook the Engineer had set up on with bullets. Well, the only entrance, if you weren't a Scout---it was possible, the Engineer had found out (much to his chagrin) that the young man could make the jump from a nearby ledge over to this one, just barely. "'Sides, aren't you supposed to be on the front line?"

The Scout shrugged. "I'll catch up in a sec. The BLUs have a Sentry set up right over the point, nothing I can do 'til Pyro and Cap'n America over there get it down."

The Engineer tried not to grind his teeth. "Look, why don't you make yourself useful 'til then, and figure out whe-" He trailed off. The Pyro, _their_ Pyro, had just trotted out of the drain pipe, and was making his way in the general direction of the building that served as an auxiliary base and Resupply station. Now, it was entirely possible that he was just out of ammo, and going back to the mini-base to get some more. Mind you, there were a couple of ammo caches stashed in the tunnels that led from this base to the one that the BLUs were currently stationed, but someone else could have temporarily depleted them. It was entirely possible that the Texan was just being paranoid, and that the Pyro really _was_ the Pyro and not- _Oh, nope, there he goes._

The "Pyro" had hung a right before he got to the base, and disappeared down the small slope that led into a creek that, in turn, ran underneath the bridge that the Control Point was positioned upon. Now, normally this wouldn't have been anything to be concerned about, since you couldn't capture a Control Point by standing _under_ it. Except that their Sniper had decided to "think outside the box" this time, to see if he could catch the other Sniper off guard, and had set up camp under the bridge instead of taking his usual spot in the battlements. He'd said he had a clear view of the tunnel the BLUs would have to enter through, with less of a chance of his opposite number forcing him to keep his head down.

The Engineer filled his lungs. "THAT PYRO'S A SPY!" His shout carried over the sound of the Heavy's minigun, and his own Sentry. There was a quick movement behind him, and he knew without looking that there was suddenly a Scout-shaped hole in the air next to the Dispenser. Over all the noise, he couldn't hear what was going on beneath the bridge, couldn't tell if the Sniper had even heard him. A red blur was speeding its way around to the far side of the bridge, which meant the Scout would be coming in behind the BLU Spy, but that was the long way around. Before he could get there, two loud revolver shots rang out from underneath the bridge, crystal clear over Sasha's whirr.

---

The RED Sniper wasn't an idiot. He'd picked his spot, knowing full well he'd be in a prime spot for the BLU's Spy to get the drop on him. He'd also had to leave his trusty Razorback behind: It was all well and good to have a device rigged up to send 10,000 volts into any backstabbing coward who thought he could waltz up and knife you, but it was, perhaps, not the wisest thing to wear whilst you were standing in a creek. But, the water was one of the main reasons he'd _picked_ this spot, to tell the truth, because a bloke could be as sneaky as he liked, but it was a sight trickier than it seemed to walk completely silently through ankle deep water. The Sniper had other senses besides just his sight. Spies occasionally seemed to forget that fact.

He would have heard the footsteps behind him, even if he hadn't been straining his ears to catch such a sound. When they ended in some soft splashes, he had to give the BLU some credit for being quieter than he would have expected. He lowered one hand to the hilt of his kukri, and then whirled and lunged at the disguised Spy half a second before the Engineer bellowed "THAT PYRO'S A SPY." _Good ol' Truckie._

The Spy darted back, out of the reach of his kukri, and his disguise abruptly dissipated to the sound of a pistol going off. The first shot caught him in the arm, but the second only winged him---the Scout wasn't the only one who knew the meaning of the word "dodge." Realizing that the Spy was probably trying to draw him out from under the bridge and into the range of his doppelganger on the BLU team, he dropped his knife in favor of his SMG. But, catching a flash of red out of the corner of his eye, he guessed he wouldn't get the chance to use it.

The Scout's blow probably would have landed, if he hadn't telegraphed the move by yelling "BONK!" at the top of his lungs. Instead, the Spy had plenty of time to duck under the swing meant to bash his head in and dart out of the way, turning his revolver to shoot at the younger man, instead. The kid was fast, though, and wasn't about to sit still so the Spy could aim. Instead, he closed in with his bat, darting and jabbing and weaving, chasing the BLU back away from the bridge.

Now, the Sniper had a couple of choices. He could try and assist the Scout, but the way the little hooligan was zipping around, it was even odds that he'd hit the runner instead of the Spy. Which left checking on his counter part, and making sure he wasn't about to do start chucking arrows into the fray, now that the RED Sniper wasn't dueling with him. Hefting his rifle, he risked sticking his head up to see over the bridge.

Just in time to see the BLU Sniper lining up a shot. Knowing he couldn't get his rifle up in time, he yelled, "Duck!" Then followed his own advice.

The Scout immediately dropped, just as an arrow zipped through the space he'd just been standing, and struck the BLU Spy in the arm. With a melodramatic cry, the Spy collapsed bonelessly to the ground and lay still. Startled, the Scout rolled away, but then immediately hopped to his feet and ran back to give the apparent corpse a solid thwack or two, just incase it wasn't as dead as it appeared to be.

Recalling what their Spy had told them about the BLU bastard's new capabilities, he brought his rifle up, snapping off a shot to get his counterpart's head down, and then called, "'E's fakin' it! Watch your back, mate."

The Scout scampered over and stood back to back with the Sniper, bat at the ready. After a few seconds passed without incident, he muttered, "You sure he's fakin'?"

"'E got shot in the arm. Unless Spies've started carryin' their vital organs around in their elbows, I don't think that'd do for 'im."

"He looked pretty dead t' me."

"That's not 'im. Its a fake, some new device 'e's got." The Sniper smirked. "Didn't even pretend t' listen to the briefing, didja?"

"Not even a little."

A few more seconds ticked by.

"How long're we gonna stand here?"

"'Til we figure out whether the blighter is still skulkin' around or not."

"And how long's that gonna take?"

There was a sudden burst of rather irate sounding Italian from the BLU Sniper's nest. The Sniper had no idea what any of it meant, but he could make an educated guess, and it wasn't "Your assistance was greatly appreciated, thank you so very much." He chuckled, "Think that answers your question."

The Scout snickered, craning his neck to try and see what was going on, but unfortunately, both BLUs were out of sight. "Now what?"

His rifle still aimed at the other Sniper's nest, he gave this its due consideration. The BLU Spy may or may not be inclined to give it another shot, considering how helpful the BLU Sniper had been during their little scuffle. Otherwise, he had his counter part nicely pinned down for the moment. Trouble was, the BLUs really should have been mounting a stronger attack than this: One Sniper, and one Spy was not much of an offense. They couldn't have put everyone else on defense, could they? "Who've the BLUs got guardin' their point, didja see?"

The Scout fidgeted. "Their Engineer, 'n' Pyro, 'n' Demoman. Didn't see anybody else."

The Sniper scowled. "They have a 'eavy, somewhere... and maybe a replacement for their Scout. Why don't you try and figure out where they've all got to?"

"Hey, no problem."

"And don't do anything stupid."

"C'mon," the Scout grinned, cheekily, "This is me we're talkin' about."

"Yeah, mate," the Sniper replied, dryly, "I know."

---

It had been an uphill battle, convincing himself that sports, in general, were even remotely interesting, especially to the point where he could get engrossed in the subject. It helped that the alternative was, well, thinking. It helped a lot, actually. So, eventually the Medic managed to convince himself that reading about baseball players was at least slightly preferable to either boring (or worrying) himself to death. He'd even managed to distract himself to the point that he didn't even hear the approaching footsteps. Or the voice that said "Look. Someone is there."

He was not, however, so oblivious that he missed the door being violently knocked off its hinges. Or the whirring mini-gun being swung in his direction.

"Is Spy?" boomed the Heavy. Except, it wasn't the Heavy, not his... not the _REDs'_ Heavy. This one was wearing blue. And pointing a very, very large gun at him.

A tiny voice in the back of his head wondered if this gun was also named Sasha. But, it was a very tiny voice and drowned out by the louder one yelling _Get out of zhe way, you idiot!_ His body, which hadn't waited for any such obvious, unnecessary instructions, was scrambling backwards onto the bunk, shoulder blades trying to dig through concrete. He desperately wished there was even a small scrap of cover in this _gottverlassen_ cell. "Nein!"

There was a very odd echo to the word. As if someone had said it at the exact same time, in the exact same voice, but perhaps not in the exact same tone. Startled, he looked out through the window and saw...

Himself.

It was always unnerving, meeting a member of your own class, and not just when they were wearing enemy colors. There was just something... deeply disturbing about a complete stranger walking around, wearing your face. It was like working next to a mirror, except the reflection had no intention of imitating your movements. Sometimes there was the odd minor discrepancy, of course, in height, or eye color. Personalities deviated to a lesser or greater degree---however, this wasn't particularly reassuring. Because, while he didn't know for sure why the members of each "class" of unit looked alike, he knew (and guessed) enough to be sure he _didn't_ want to know, thanks all the same. Would, in fact, be much happier if he never, ever, found out, ever. He suspected most of the others felt the same way---at the very least, no one really talked about it.

He realized he was gaping. The other BLU Medic smirked, slightly. It wasn't an obvious smirk, but he knew his own face well enough to recognize a smirk on it when he saw one. It wasn't hard to guess why, either. Here were two Medics. One of them was locked in a cell, and one of them had a Heavy guarding him. It didn't take a genius to tell who looked more competent. "Zhis is zhe old BLU Medic," his doppelganger explained to the Heavy, patiently, and he swore he heard the other Medic add an extra emphasis on the 'old.' "He vas captured by zhe REDs before either of us arrived."

"Ah." The BLU Heavy---the _BLU_ Heavy, the _schweinehunds_ at Command had finally, _finally_ hired a Heavy, and they'd waited to do it until _after they'd fired him!_---took a moment to absorb this. "I remember. He is not dead?"

"Obviously not."

The BLU giant considered this some more. "Then, we have rescued him?"

"Ja," the other Medic agreed. His smirk became more pronounced. "Vhat a nice surprise."

He snapped his mouth closed, and attempted to regain his composure. He stepped down off the bunk and drew himself up, straightening his shoulders... and noticed, to his chagrin, that the other Medic was a good two inches taller than he was. _Verdammt! Verdammt noch mal! _

"Come!" the Heavy ordered, backing out of the cell again. Hefting his mini-gun, he added, "We go to find Control Point!"

They didn't wait to see if he was going to follow.


	16. Inevitable Turn of Events

A/N: I was very tempted to give you guys another cliffhanger, but then I decided to be nice. ;) Thus, this chapter's just a tad on the long side. Hope you enjoy. :)

Edited to add: Guh, missed like, one header between paragraphs and knew it was going to drive me crazy. Fixed now!

* * *

The Spy had been lurking near the BLU Control Point, waiting for an opportune moment to slip in and disrupt their defenses, when he overheard the BLU Demoman wonder if they shouldn't send someone to find their Heavy and Medic. He thought they might have gotten lost, the last he'd seen of them they were heading down a tunnel that wouldn't lead them anywhere near the contested point. The BLU Pyro expressed his unintelligible, but nevertheless clear opinion about the pair. The BLU Engineer chuckled softly, and then pointed out that _they_ were doing _their _job. "If th' Sniper wants a hand winning this shindig, he can go find 'em himself."

So, there was a BLU Heavy and a Medic wandering around somewhere? Now, that was a tempting target...

And then it occurred to him, that the only tunnels that the pair might have taken were ones that lead to RED territory. Specifically, ones that led to the RED territory that bordered their base. For one horrified moment, he wondered if the BLUs were not lost. Had, in fact, wandered into RED territory, _on purpose_. Specifically at a time when all the REDs would have abandoned the base. But... no, that wasn't possible. BLU Command had _fired_ the Medic, they wouldn't...

Unless it had been an elaborate scheme to get the REDs to drop their guard. Risky, perhaps, but... if they could get their Medic back without paying a ransom, they would undoubtedly think the risk well worth it.

_No, no, why would they hire a new Medic, if zey were just going to get ze old one back?_

Because having _two_ Medics would really turn the tide, and if their plan failed and they didn't get the old one back, then they'd still have the new one _damn damn damn._

But he was not going to panic. The emotion was beneath him, and entirely a waste of time. He had to focus. All of this was easily salvageable, if he dealt with it now. He just had to find and kill the Medic's would-be rescuers. If, in the process, he had to re-capture the ex-BLU by force and thus completely destroy the rapport he'd managed to build up with him, well, then that was an acceptable sacrifice. Frustrating, but not completely devastating to his plans. Not to mention, it was entirely possible he was giving the BLUs too much credit, and they really _were_ just wandering around lost somewhere. He was _not_ going to panic.

Still cloaked, he made his silent, stealthy way towards the tunnels that connected the separate arenas. Once out of the sight of the BLUs, he picked up the pace, no longer needing to worry about the motion-sensitive nature of his invisibility watch. Sure enough, just inside the tunnel that would come out closest to the RED base, he spotted two sets of foot prints, leading into RED territory. The Sniper would probably be able to tell how "fresh" they were if he'd been here, damn him, but the Spy had to make an educated guess. The fight had been going on for some time now, stuck in a stalemate. If the BLU Heavy and Medic had participated at all, that might not have been the case. Which meant, they must have left almost immediately after the start of the battle.

But, there was still time. Surely, there was still time. _Blast! Where is ze Scout when you actually _need_ him?_ He uncloaked and ran.

---

So they'd replaced him. Fine. There was no point in getting worked up over it, and besides, at least they'd actually rescued him. Even if it was completely by accident, it still meant he could leave. There wasn't a single RED in the base, and there was absolutely nothing stopping him. The Medic had no reason to stay, after all, and every reason to go. So, undoubtedly, he would be leaving any minute now.

...Any minute now.

What _were_ they up to? They couldn't possibly be trying to capture the Control Point in the base. Yes, technically, that was what the BLUs would have to do to win, but it wasn't even being contested yet. They'd have to capture the rest of the RED controlled territory, first. Someone surely had to have explained that to them. _Hmph. Vell, if zhey don't know it, zhen I'm not going to be zhe one to explain it to zhem. _He was _leaving._ Except...

If they hadn't given up by the time the REDs returned to their base... well, the REDs certainly wouldn't be expecting them. Not that it would really matter. The BLUs would die, almost certainly. Possibly. Probably. Two against seven were terrible odds. Unless the Medic's Medigun had built up an Übercharge, and by the time the battle was over it almost certainly would have. Two invulnerable opponents versus seven surprised, very un-bulletproof ones was an entirely different matter. The Übercharge only lasted for a few seconds, but usually that was enough. They might eventually go down, but so would some of the REDs.

Not that he cared if any of them died. Not even the Heavy, with his stories and his sandwiches. The inexplicable Spy. The belligerently helpful Scout- _Alright, alright! Be silent! I vill admit, to myself, zhat... some of zhe REDs are... almost tolerable. Almost. And I vould not be particularly pleased to see zhem get killed. Happy?_ He sighed. _I suppose I vill have to go and herd zhose two out of zhe base._ And back onto the battlefield. Where they would kill more REDs. _Schweig! Vhy can't I ever make zhings easy for myself?_

Footsteps drew his attention over to the stairs. His first thought, that the REDs were already returning, died quickly when he saw the BLU Sniper making his way down them. _Was zur Hölle ...? Vhat is zhis? _Did the BLUs think they could just _invade-_

Seeing his expression, the BLU Sniper quirked a brow and then reached up to his face... and became the RED Spy, folding up a paper mask with the BLU Sniper's face printed on it, his own expression unreadable.

The Medic snorted, "Of course." Really, who else would have shown up, right at this moment?

The RED cast a glance at the ruined door and then turned back to the Medic. "I take it ze BLUs-"

"Zhey are heading to zhe Control Point." The words were out of his mouth before he could think about, or try to stop, them. Let the Spy deal with the intruders. It wasn't any of his business anymore, after all. The BLUs had fired him, he wasn't obligated to lift a finger for them anymore. Alright, so they'd "rescued" him, but it had been purely by accident. Was he supposed to feel grateful to a pair of total strangers, to whom he was nothing more than an afterthought? Especially ones that were going to slaughter his... Alright, alright, fine. _His_ REDs.

The Spy arched a brow, looking almost puzzled. "Ze one in ze base?" When the Medic nodded, slightly, he asked, "Why?"

_Because zhey are idiots? How am I supposed to know? _"Zhey didn't say."

The Spy seemed to puzzle over this for a few moments, eyeing the broken cell door thoughtfully, as if something about it troubled him. But, before the Medic could begin to guess at what he was thinking, the Spy snapped open his cigarette case and selected one. "In any case, zis works out nicely."

The Medic shot him a puzzled look, uncertain as to what he meant.

The RED arched a brow at his expression, and continued, smoothly, "We wanted to find a way to get you out of zis in one piece, did we not? It was unexpected, but I would say zis fits ze bill."

He wondered for a moment if the Spy was being sincere. If he actually expected the doctor to just walk away. Could it actually be possible that this man had been honest with him all along, albeit in his own crooked, slippery sort of way? _Ha. I doubt it. _Still, even if it had been just a means to an end, an elaborate ruse of some sort, the Spy _had_, as far as the Medic could tell, been trying to keep him alive. Maybe he really would have just let the Medic walk away. _But, perhaps it is a good zhing I'll never know._

The Spy was still talking, gesturing vaguely back the way he'd come, the way the Medic knew led outside. "Everyone is distracted by ze battle, it would be simple to slip away-"

He interrupted him. "Vhere are my veapons?"

For just a moment, the Spy looked startled, then puzzled... then his expression hardened, closed itself off. "I will have to go after ze BLUs," the Spy warned him. There was a steely sort of edge to his voice, now, and the Medic realized the RED had completely misunderstood him. "If you try to assist zem..." There was the merest hesitation, then the Spy continued, flatly, "I will not make any promise of your safety."

Which was supposed to sound threatening, he was sure. Except it was a pretty tame threat, especially for a Spy. It wasn't even "I wont promise not to kill you." Would the Spy kill him, if he had to? _Could_ he? The Medic's knee jerk reaction was to say _yes, of course, are you an idiot? _But... Excuses about gratitude aside, the Spy _could_ have just shot him that first day, in the drain could have stood aside, and let his team mates kill the Medic, when he'd learned the BLUs had fired the doctor. So... almost certainly, he could. But perhaps he didn't want to.

Realization dawned, and he smiled, grimly. _He's just as confused by all of zhis as I am._ "I vould have to be some kind of idiot to trust zhat promise, anyvay, ja? Vhere are zhey?"

---

The Medic gave him a look he couldn't immediately read. Thoughtful, perhaps, almost... scrutinizing. Then he smiled. It wasn't much of one, just a faint, rather grim looking quirk at the corner of his mouth, but nevertheless a smile. The Spy was almost surprised to find out the Medic even knew _how_. "I vould have to be some kind of idiot to trust zhat promise, anyvay, ja? Vhere are zhey?"

Well. This had been a complete and utter _failure_. He was never, ever going to be able to look the Sniper straight in his smug, gloating face ever again. And it had been going so well! What had gone wrong?

He knew he shouldn't answer the Medic's question, at least not truthfully. It was one thing to indulge him if he was a potential ally, but arming an enemy? That would be the honorable, and _idiotic_, thing to do, and no one had ever accused him of being either. Except, perhaps, himself---at least in the case of the latter. Although, what else was there to do, precisely? Refuse to answer him and complicate matters further? No. This... _mistake _would have to be rectified, simply and efficiently. He _would_ tell the Medic where his weapons were. And then, when the BLU turned his back on the Spy to go retrieve them...

"Zere is a Resupply bay, on your left, if you follow zat hall." He indicated the far doorway with a wave of his hand. "We put your weapons zere."

The Medic nodded, firmly, and turned to go. The Spy's butterfly knife found its way to his hand almost without conscious effort, and he flicked it open with practiced ease. All he had to do was close the distance between them with two silent strides and slip the blade into the Medic's back. Three strides, now. Four.

His feet refused to move. He should have been stalking along like Death incarnate, but there was a distinct lack of impending stylish doom... well, _impending_. What was wrong with him? Beyond painting a target on his back, the BLU couldn't possibly have made his assassination easier. The Medic had just turned his undefended back to the Spy without a backwards glance.

_"Which means 'e trusts you."_ The Sniper's voice was almost as clear as it had been last night. _Pfeh, just what I need, an unwashed Australian peasant in my head. _

Still, what he'd said... It had been ridiculous last night, and it was ridiculous now. The paranoid, overly cautious Medic, who had seen through his disguise the moment they'd met... _trusted_ him? The one who'd been ready to run the instant the Spy turned out to be an enemy, who had obviously been expecting that to be the 'punch line' of this whole escapade? Absurd!

But, then, why had he done something as incautious, as uncharacteristic, as this? It couldn't possibly mean he trusted the Spy, especially now. Could it?

_The Sniper made a disgusted noise. "What kind of bloody lunatic trusts _you_?"_

Exactly! No one trusted a Spy, you would have to be some kind... of... idiot...

_The Medic smiled, a tiny, grim little smile. "I vould have to be some kind of idiot to trust zhat promise, anyvay, ja?"_

The Spy stood very still, as if this new revelation was a fragile, delicate thing, that would shatter under anything but the most delicate inspection. He examined it from all angles. Perhaps, just perhaps, he had been a tad premature in his original assessment of the situation. If that was the case, then it was unforgivably sloppy. Obviously, he had been letting his control slip somewhat lately, to be getting so worked up over such trifling matters. He would have to work to rectify that... but later. He glanced, absently, at the knife in his hand, and then thought better of putting it away. After all, there were still BLUs in the base.

How many there were, exactly, he was unsure. But, he would undoubtedly find out soon enough.

---

The corridor went on for a bit, going down a very short flight of stairs before opening up into a larger hallway, with several doorways opening into it. The nearest one, on the Medic's right, opened up onto an even larger room. A quick glance revealed that this was where the RED base's Control Point was located. It was a circular room, one half raised higher than the other, with the Control Point on a raised dais in the very center, a step higher than the elevated portion of the room. Computers and monitors lined the walls, as well as portions of the Control Point itself, providing some very expensive cover for whoever happened to be standing on it. From the sound of things, this was currently the two BLUs. He backed away from the door before they could notice him, and followed the corridor to the left where there was, in fact, a Resupply station. He'd been starting to wonder.

It didn't look that different from the ones used by the BLUs. Large enough to accommodate the whole team or one even bigger, if it had to, with a floor tiled in white, off-white walls, some cabinets near the door that held medical supplies and ammunition, and then a set of wooden lockers along the back wall. The lockers were more like partitioned shelves than anything else, and were filled with all sorts of odds and ends belonging to the team, from extra uniforms and helmets to the ace bandages the Scout wrapped around his hands for some apparent reason. His weapons were tucked in one cubby, about as far from everyone else's things as they could possibly get.

It was a relief to finally be armed again. Of course, he still couldn't go one on one with a Heavy Weapons Guy and win (unless they were particularly oblivious. Or unconscious. Or already dead), but it was still fairly nice to have some means to defend himself again. He clipped the handle of his bonesaw to his belt, and then checked his syringe gun. The syringe gun was one of the reasons he was a miserable failure with conventional weapons, but since he didn't _use_ any of those, that was just fine. No one expected a gun that shot big syringes to be particularly effective, and usually learned their mistake when they were lying in a twitching heap on the floor, with fifty or sixty of the things sticking out of them. It was especially effective when the dummkopfs ran straight at him, and didn't even think to try and dodge.

Satisfied that the weapon wasn't jammed, and still had a decent supply of ammunition, he turned to go---and something caught his eye. Hanging amongst the other extra uniforms, almost lost and probably ignored, was a RED Medic's uniform. He eyed it, suspiciously. Obviously, it couldn't have been intended for him. Possibly it was left over from the last RED team to be stationed here. Still, it was awfully convenient. Almost too convenient, really. And, well, putting it on... that might be rushing things.

Before he could reach a decision, he heard someone scream in a voice that sounded very much like his own, and suppressed a shudder. _That_ had really taken some getting used to, when he'd first started. But, just now, that wasn't what he was concerned about. What _should_ have followed, if the Spy was responsible for the commotion, was the sounds of the BLU Heavy's swift and merciless death. Instead, there was a whirr of a mini-gun warming up, and an outraged cry of "Doktor!" Then the deep, steady _thmpthmpthmp_ of very big bullets being fired, presumably into a target made of flesh and blood and expensive suit.

_Idiot!_ He ran for the door._ If he gets himself killed now, I vill... I vill kill him again, myself!_

_---_

The Spy had badly miscalculated, and now he was paying for it. He should have been able to clear the distance between the BLU Medic and Heavy swiftly, before the BLU had a chance to react. _Should_ have. He hadn't counted on the Heavy being quite so quick on his feet, however, and instead of waltzing up to an unprotected back, he'd found himself staring down the barrel of a gun he could probably have fit his head and shoulders into. One that was being held by a rather intimidating BLU, who did not look at all pleased to see the Spy standing over his friend's corpse with a bloody knife in his hand.

This was definitely a moment when discretion was the better part of valor. As the mini-gun started to spin, he backpedaled and dove behind a handy bit of cover: a waist high divider (too solid to be called a "railing", too short to be called a "wall") that lined the drop from the higher and lower portions of the floor on this side of the room. The air where he'd been standing was suddenly full of bullets. Unfortunately, while he was currently un-perforated, that condition was unlikely to last for very long. As soon as the Heavy came around the corner, he'd find the Spy crouching in a long, narrow aisle that was just _asking_ to be filled with lead. Even cloaking wouldn't help, unless the Russian was particularly stupid, because it was only difficult to shoot someone who was invisible if you had to actually _aim_ for them. There was nothing to worry about, however---All he'd have to do was cloak and climb over the divider and pray the BLU didn't hear him land. Or cloak. And if he would just hurry up and finish cowering in terror, he might just be able to manage it. _Move, you imbecile!_

The rain of bullets stopped, but not the whirr, and he held no illusions that the gun had run out of ammunition. As he started to scramble away, the BLU Heavy laughed, with equal parts malice and mirth. "I am coming for you!"

There was an unfamiliar _thpthpthpthpthp_ noise, and the Heavy's laughter turned into an outraged roar. The noise continued, and then the mini-gun started up again. This time, however, it wasn't peppering the wall near him. He risked a glance over the top of the divider, just in time to see the Medic duck around the bottom of the dais, out of sight. The BLU Heavy had started to follow, gun spitting bullets angrily after the doctor. A number of what appeared to be... _syringes, _of all things, were embedded all along the Heavy's side. A few were even plunged into the side of his head, and it was these that probably had enraged him the most.

Despite himself, the Spy grinned. True, this was not exactly the best moment to be patting himself on the back, smug in the sense of a job well done, but not only had he just single handedly _not_ died, he'd also confirmed where the Medic's new loyalties lay. It was hard not to take just a brief moment to gloat. Though, admittedly, he should probably do something about the thickheaded thug trying to inexpertly murder his comrade. Knife in hand, he straightened and vaulted the wall, landing almost silently. For the moment, the BLU had his back to the Spy, and he fully intended to take advantage of the opportunity.


	17. Is that your final answer?

The Scout had looked _everywhere_, and was beginning to wonder if the BLU Heavy hadn't beaten up a Spy and stolen his cloaking device. Because, seriously, how the heck did you _lose_ somebody that big? He'd thoroughly checked the tunnels that ran between the two contested territories. He'd peeked out into the BLUs' territory as best he could without tempting fate, while ignoring the Soldier's swearing. He'd double checked the REDs' territory, until the Engineer threatened to throw his wrench at the young man's head if he didn't stop wasting time. He'd even snuck into uncontested BLU territory, just for a peek. Nothing. Not a single friggin' BLU Heavy to be found.

Well, there was only one place left to look, though it didn't seem likely that he'd find the missing BLU (possibly BLUs) in uncontested RED territory. They didn't have any reason to be there. The teams were only supposed to launch an attack from the territory they were trying to defend. Sneaking through uncontested territory wasn't exactly cheating, but it was better not to do it, 'cos otherwise the other guys would do it, too. Besides, the people running the show got really huffy about it.

As he'd expected, there was no one in the wide open arena. Stopping just outside the long tunnel that led back to the RED base, he jogged in place as he considered where to look next. Maybe the BLU Heavy had stayed in their base? He'd never actually heard of anyone calling in sick to a fight, but, hey, stranger things had happened. Since he was here, though...

He glanced back towards the battlefield, and then down the tunnel. _Yeah. I've got plenty of time. _He could check in on the Doc, and then run back to see how things were going with the whole 'invading BLU territory' thing. Of course, he'd hafta be quick about it---it would really suck to lose to the BLUs _again_.

As fast as _he_ ran, it took no time at all to navigate the tunnel, zip through the open court yard and into the base. He jumped down the stairs rather than try to hit every one, hit the landing, and then leapt down the next flight, and skidded to a stop in front of the cell.

The empty cell.

The door hadn't just been left open, it had been knocked off its friggin' hinges. Suddenly, the Scout had a sinking suspicion that he'd figured out where the BLU Heavy had gone. Obviously, the BLUs had sent him to rescue the Doc, even though the Spy said they wouldn't. It wasn't often that he was right when the Spy was wrong, and it _should_ have been something to feel smug about, but the feeling was overshadowed by his outrage. The Doc was _theirs_ now. The BLUs had said they didn't want him, and the Scout and his bat were calling "no take-backs." He could _definitely_ run faster than a Heavy, all he had to do was _find_ the bastard and beat his friggin' head in. He'd-

There was a howl of pain, from the direction of the Control Point, and he had off dashed towards the noise before the unlucky sap, whoever he was, had finished dying.

The first thing he saw when he got there was the Doc. He was sprawled on the ground near the Control Point, with that sort of boneless look that the Scout had learned to associate with folks who were no longer amongst living.

"Holy crap! _Doc!_" In a flash, he was crouched next to the body, hoping to discover he was wrong and the Medic was still all right. But people who were "all right" usually didn't have gaping knife wounds in their back. Also, usually, they were still breathing. _Crap! How could this happen? _The Heavy had said the Spy was on the Doc's side, on _their_ side. Then again, when was a friggin' Spy ever really on your side? Obviously not _now_, because the only person who killed with a single stab to the back was the Spy, and sure enough, there he was, down alongside the Control Point, stepping away from the lifeless body of the BLU Heavy, wiping his stupid, pansy knife clean with a stupid, pansy handkerchief, the smug, sleezy, murderous _asshole._

"What th' frickin' hell, man?! You killed th' Doc!" When the Spy's only response was to arch a brow at him, the Scout scrambled to his feet, ready to go over there and punch the smug off the smarmy bastard's face. "You bloodthirsty sonnuva-"

"_Dummkopf,_" snapped an exasperated voice. "I am over _here_."

Another BLU Medic, _their_ BLU Medic, appeared around the far side of the Control Point, making his way up the stairs to the upper level. His right sleeve was all bloody, but other than that, he was uninjured, and very obviously unmurdered.

The Scout blinked. "Oh," he managed, after a second or two, letting his fists drop to his sides. Then, with a sheepish glance at the Spy, cleared his throat and tried to take his foot out of his mouth. "I knew that." He folded his arms, and tried to look nonchalant. "I was just foolin' around."

The Spy coughed. It sounded suspiciously like a snicker.

The Scout shot him a look that said _Shut the hell up._

The Spy grinned.

---

The Medic tried to ignore their silent bickering, instead investigating where precisely on his arm all this blood was coming from. He couldn't bring himself to give the Scout a hard time for his mistake, because, honestly, it had been more reassuring than the Medic liked to admit. He was almost sure he was doing the right thing, but it was nice to have the occasional reminder as to the _why_, because he suspected that 'almost' was going to be hanging around for awhile. After all, if he was going to abandon his old team, or whatever was left of it, he'd better have a damn good reason. And he did.

Not that he was ever, ever going to tell them that.

Snapping open his cigarette case and selecting one, the Spy joined them by the Control Point, still smirking, as if he hadn't just nearly been shot to death. He did, however, manage to smooth his features into a more composed expression when he nodded to the Medic. "Your help was much appreciated, doctor."

He was definitely going to have to talk them out of this habit of thanking him for every little teeny thing. It was really starting to get embarrassing. "Don't mention it," the Medic replied, firmly, not looking up from the task at hand.

He'd been lucky, the stray bullet had only grazed him. It would close up all by itself, if he left it alone, though he should probably do something about the bleeding in the meanwhile. For lack of a better solution, he clamped his hand over the cut and then glanced up at the two REDs.

_Its now or never, I suppose. _"I, ah…" He hesitated. Did he really want- _Yes. Dummkopf. Stop stalling._ Thus chastised, he tried again. "I noticed zhere vas an extra Medic's uniform, amongst zhe ozzers," he nodded towards the Resupply closet, then glanced down at his own uniform. Worn for six days straight and then bloodstained? Uncomfortable didn't begin to describe it. "Zhis one is getting… ah… unpleasant. I vonder if I could borrow…?" He trailed off. If the Spy couldn't pick up _that_ subtext, he needed to hand in his disguise kit. Judging from the Scout's expression, even the runner knew what he'd really meant.

The Medic needn't have worried. "Of course," the Spy replied, smoothly. "Go right ahead." He had to give the other man credit---the Spy almost managed to say it with a completely straight face. Almost.

He nodded, stiffly, "Danke." Ignoring the gaping Scout, he stalked past them towards the Resupply bay.

As soon as the Medic was out of sight, the Scout made a strangled noise, as if several exclamations had all tried to elbow their way out of his mouth at once, now that it was "safe." His jaw worked soundlessly for a second or two, presumably as they duked it out amongst themselves. Finally, the three finalists tried to claw their way over each other and across the finish line. "Was that... Did he... Is what just happened there what I _think_ just happened?"

The Spy took a drag from his cigarette as he untangled this sentence, and hid a smirk. "I wouldn't know. I cannot even begin to imagine ze thoughts zat run through your tiny mind," he lied, with a disdainful sniff.

"Very funny," The Scout retorted, trying to glower and completely failing due to the fact he hadn't yet managed to get over his astonishment . "Answer th' friggin' question."

"Aren't you supposed to be capturing a Control Point, or somezing?"

"Why does everyone assume I'm slackin' off? Jeez. I was lookin' for th' friggin' BLU Heavy. 'Sides, there's a Sentry over their point, and _somebody_-" he shot an accusing glance at the Spy, "-hasn't taken it out yet."

He glanced significantly down at the deceased BLU near their feet. "I was busy."

"Yeah, I bet." The younger man glanced over at where the BLU Heavy lay sprawled, and added, "Anyway, looks like you guys found 'im. Uh, and his friend." He eyed the dead Medic, and then glanced down the hall after the one that was still alive. "So... they didn't come t' rescue him?"

He supposed it wouldn't hurt to answer _one_ question. After all, being enigmatic was all well and good, but you occasionally had to take into account your ally's level of intelligence, and he did need the Scout on his side. "Zey probably did not even know him."

"So... no?"

The Spy endeavored to indicate with an arched brow that there was no possible way he was going to spell things out any more clearly than he already had. The Scout, who had received this response on more than one occasion, looked about as happy as he usually did upon receiving it.

"Doin' this on purpose," the Scout grumbled.

The Spy's expression now said, _Yes. Obviously. _

For a few moments, there was silence, which never boded well when the Scout was involved. It meant he was thinking, and logical reasoning was not his strong suit. You had to do some serious mental gymnastics to even start to follow his train of thought. This time, however, the Spy didn't have to guess at what was running through the young man's mind, because a second or two later he was blurting it out. "You sure this is a good idea? I mean, th' Soldier's gonna be pissed, and th' Doc's got the Heavy, 'n' you 'n' me, but that still leaves Pyro, Hard Hat, an' th' Sniper. An', holy crap, what's Command gonna say?"

"'Well done'?" The Spy smirked and patted the Scout, patronizingly, on the head. This had the desired response: the Scout was looking murderous again, instead of frantic.

Somehow, the younger man restrained himself from pummeling the Spy, though it was fairly obvious that he wanted to. "Friggin' smug arrogant bastard."

He could hardly argue with that, and so didn't bother responding. After a moment or two of quiet contemplation on his part, and impatient fidgeting on the Scout's, the runner grumbled, "What's takin' him so long?"

The Spy sighed, wearily. "If you are so bored, why don't you run and tell ze Heavy what has happened?" He paused, considering. It might be a good idea to avoid confrontation with the members of RED team who were as-of-yet undecided, or unaware, on the subject of the Medic joining up. "In fact... tell him to meet us in ze tunnel, between the territories, if he can. Zen we will see to zat Sentry gun."

---

The Medic really could have used a shave, and a shower, but, considering the circumstances, he supposed he could just be happy with getting some clean clothes. Even if they were a color he was used to shooting at, or running from. Fortunately, there wasn't a mirror in the room. It was bad enough imaging what he must look like. If he actually saw it with his own eyes, he would probably laugh himself sick. Or come to his senses. _Mein Gott, vhat do I zhink I'm doing? Zhis is crazy._

After all, what did he know about the REDs, really? All he really knew was that they'd been trying to kill him, before the Spy had inexplicably saved his life. But why had he done that? It made no sense. This RED Spy was almost certainly not the first RED Spy the Medic had accidentally assisted. He knew it, because most of them had repaid the favor by attempting to stab him in the back. Which made _this_ Spy's claims of gratitude all the more unbelievable. And he'd seemed so _surprised_, that the Medic had simply taken it for granted that the incident wouldn't merit gratitude. This seemed a tad unreasonable---he couldn't possibly have been the first Medic to be fooled by the RED Spy and he couldn't imagine that many of them had survived the encounter. _But, he didn't kill me. _Why? He'd been about to. What had changed his mind?

Well, whatever it was that had caused the Spy's insanity, it obviously wasn't unique to him. The Engineer and the Scout had both been perfectly willing to have him drawn and quartered one day, and then were being awkwardly grateful to him the next. All because he'd healed some fairly minor wounds.

_Except, zhey vouldn't have been 'minor,' vould they? Not if you hadn't been zhere. _The Scout's panic, the Engineer's bleak expression. They'd acted like they thought it was the end of the world. _Maybe it vould have been._

But, no, even if he hadn't been there, their wounds weren't so bad as to be fatal. They might have been removed from duty temporarily, but obviously a few minutes with a Medigun would have had them combat ready. Of course, they probably would have to be transferred somewhere with a Medic, possibly permanently if RED Command brought in someone to replace them on this team.

He remembered the way the RED Sniper had quietly steadied his comrade, when the Engineer was injured. The way the Heavy had practically carried him, in his haste to get the Medic to his teammates. The way the Scout had clung to the Spy, like he'd expected the older man could save him.

They watched out for each other. They cared about each other's wellbeing. They weren't friends, perhaps, but they joked and teased and squabbled amongst themselves, like unruly siblings.

The Engineer and the Scout would have lost their team. And their team would've missed them.

He took a deep breath, and then let it out. There. That was a good reason. _Zhese REDs need you, even zhe ones who vant your head on a stake. Zhey'd be better off vith you, zhen vithout you. Maybe zhe BLUs would be, too. But, you never zhought you could save everyone. Its not as if you haven't made zhat kind of choice before. _

Though, really, this whole 'arguing with himself' bit had been kind of pointless, since he'd already changed into the damn uniform. With a sigh, he adjusted his new red tie. He smoothed the white coat, adjusted his new red rubber gloves. They didn't feel any different from his old ones. If he closed his eyes, he probably wouldn't have been able to tell the difference, except these were clean.

With his eyes open, however, seeing all the red where there had been shades of blue was still unnerving. This was definitely going to take some getting used to.

_Yes, vell. Story of my life. _

_---  
_

The BLU Pyro was having the time of her life. The RED Soldier kept firing rockets at their Sentry Gun, and she kept deflecting them with a blast of compressed air from her flamethrower. Hooked up to the Dispenser the BLU Engineer had provided, she could keep this up all day. Fortunately, the RED Soldier hadn't figured this out yet, and kept doggedly trying to blow up their defenses.

The next time he had to stop to reload, she decided, she'd try and peg him with her flare gun. It would be _hilarious_.

Her two new friends looked kind of bored, though. The Demoman was dropping the occasional explosive down onto the REDs to keep them on their toes, but mostly he was just waiting for someone to develop a case of idiocy and try to stand on the Control Point. He'd covered it with sticky bombs: If the Sentry didn't get them, the Demoman's explosives would. The Engineer kept himself busy keeping his Sentry supplied with ammo, obviously keeping an eye out for the RED Spy. From their expressions, neither was having nearly as much fun as she was.

Below the platform they were perched on, the RED Soldier growled and stopped firing to reload. She scrambled to grab her flare gun, but footsteps coming along the overhead path distracted her. The BLU Spy came into sight, wearing a mask with the RED Spy's face printed on it. "Spy," she observed, and then went back to watching for incoming rockets.

The Engineer reached for his shotgun and cocked it menacingly.

The Spy glared for a moment, then snatched his mask off. Underneath his disguise, he was still the BLU Spy. Still, he kept a polite distance from the Engineer's machines. "The _convict _sent me to discover where, precisely, our offense is." His tone was icy. He did not sound pleased at being 'sent' anywhere, especially by the Sniper. (The Pyro was suddenly hungry. The blasted Spy's accent always made her think of spaghetti and meatballs, for some reason, and she'd missed breakfast this morning.) "Obviously, they are not _here_."

"We've nae seen the big lad and his nursemaid since our lil' scuffle wi' th' REDs started," the Demoman said, shrugging. "Saw 'em scamperin' off intae uncontested territory."

She deflected another rocket, and the Spy's curse was drowned out by the explosion. In the lull between shots, she heard him sigh. "I require some _competent_ assistance to capture the point," he admitted, after a moment, his voice dripping with irony. The Pyro had to agree that it was fairly ironic that the Spy was calling the drunk, one-eyed demolitions man, who could barely stagger in a straight line at the best of times, more competent than their Sniper. Which didn't make it any less true.

The Demoman took a swig from his bottle as he considered this. Down below, the RED Soldier called them all a cowardly bunch of teenaged girls, but the BLUs collectively ignored him, except for the Pyro, who spat flame in his direction. Unfortunately, he was well out of range, but the RED Pyro likewise reciprocated. She resisted the urge to wave.

The black Irishman turned to his fellow defenders. "Yeu two seem tae have things covered here," he pointed out. "Think yeu can hold th' fort wi'out me for a minute or two?"

She and the Engineer exchanged a quick glance. Then she shrugged, and turned her attention back to her job. She could hardly blame the Demoman if he wanted to have a little fun, but she wished he'd have somebody else to back him up, besides the Spy and the Sniper. "Just watch your back," she informed him, without taking her eyes off the REDs.

There was a moment or two of awkward silence. Then the Engineer translated, "He says, just watch your back. And so do I. Go win us another round, pardner."

"Aye!" The Demoman saluted them with his bottle and staggered off after their Spy. Stealing a moment to watch them go, she stifled a frustrated sigh. It would be nice if, just once, her whole team was smart enough to figure out what the hell she was saying. That was probably setting her expectations too high, though. After all, they hadn't even figured out she was _female_, yet.


	18. All go tumbling down

A/N: The next update might be a bit later in coming, as we're getting close to the point that I've been working and reworking. But, I promise, it wont be -too- long of a wait. :)

* * *

The RED Sniper could tell the Scout had brought back good news, and he had a pretty good idea what that good news most likely was, considering the runner had brought it straight to the Heavy, and the Sniper could see the big man's grin clearly from the battlements. _So our resident spook's finally convinced th' good doctor ta sign up. Nice timing._

The Engineer was out of earshot, trying to get a new Dispenser/Sentry gun combo up. _Prob'ly for the best. _He didn't actually think Truckie was still holding a grudge, but as far as he could tell, things were still not peachy between him and the good doctor. This wasn't the moment to break the news to him. Things were already complicated enough.

In the Scout's absence, things had heated up considerably. The BLU Demoman had made an appearance, and immediately started causing trouble for the Engineer. At least Truckie hadn't made the same mistake, putting his hands too close to the explosives trying to blow up his "baby." This time, the Texan had managed to put off the inevitable for a minute or two, before he and the Heavy had to relocate.

Things were temporarily back to a stalemate, however. The BLUs couldn't leave the pipe they were taking cover in, without the Sniper opening a couple of new holes in their heads to let all the air out. Conversely, the RED Heavy couldn't get close enough to the pipe to get the BLUs into Sasha's effective range, because the Demoman was peppering the ground in front of the pipe with sticky bombs, that were just begging someone to step on them.

And skulking around somewhere was the BLU Spy. The Sniper hadn't seen any sign of the wanker, yet, but he doubted the spook was going to give up that easily.

The Sniper watched the Scout and the Heavy converse, though he couldn't make out a single word they were saying. Then the Heavy hefted his gun, and headed off towards the contested BLU territory, while the Scout went over to where the Engineer was just putting up his Sentry. The younger man gestured while he, presumably, explained what was going on, first pointing up at the Sniper, then towards the BLUs' in the pipe, and then waving vaguely in the direction the Heavy had disappeared in. _I've got the BLUs pinned in there, so the big lug's either going to try and flank 'em, or 'elp the offense. Either way, 'e's probably going t' meet up with the Medic._

_'Ere's 'opin' it works._

The newly made Sentry gun beeped, cheerfully, to indicate it was now ready for business, and started panning around for BLUs. And at that moment, the BLU Spy dashed out of cover, sprinting right through the Sentry's range. The Sentry beeped, menacingly, and fired, but it had barely scratched the BLU when he "died," quite dramatically.

"Bloody 'ell." There was absolutely no sign of the BLU Spy anywhere, but the Sniper wasn't fooled. The sneak had meant for the Sentry to hit him---it wasn't smart enough to keep firing after it had "killed" him, and since Truckie hadn't had time to upgrade it properly, it wouldn't just kill the BLU outright. He was still down there, somewhere.

Fortunately, the Engineer seemed to have realized that, himself. He'd set about upgrading the Sentry as quickly as he could, and barked orders at the Scout, presumably to watch the Texan's back, since that's what the runner moved to do. The Sniper would just have to trust they were smart and fast enough, respectively, to keep the Spy from jumping them. He couldn't waste the attention, watching out for them. He had to keep an eye on the BLUs, make sure they didn't poke their noses out where he could see them, or miss the opportunity to blow said noses off, if they did.

The floorboards creaked behind him, and it belatedly occurred to him that Truckie and the little hooligan were _not_ the Spy's most obvious target.

He ducked, just in time.

---

The BLU Pyro peered underneath the platform. There was a complete absence of anything even remotely resembling a RED Soldier or Pyro. "They're gone," she reported, puzzled, and sat back.

"Mebbe they're out of ammo," the BLU Engineer suggested. "Or they finally figgered out that their strategy just ain't working."

"Well, that's no fair. I was having fun."

The Engineer chuckled. "Well, I'm not complaining. If that's the worst these REDs are gonna throw at us, we'll have no trouble holding the Point."

She didn't like to point fingers (at least, not at people she liked), but later, looking back, she would decide that the Engineer had totally jinxed them. There was a path that led from the platform they were on, into the tunnels that connected the two contested territories. The REDs had avoided this one, since taking it would have only earned them horrible bullet-y death, courtesy of the Engineer's Sentry. Just as the Engineer finished talking, however, a menacing whirr filled the air, punctuated by a distinctive, electric sounding crackle. Then, a shining red giant came around that corner, his weapon the same color as he was and already firing.

The Pyro had seen Übercharged enemies before. Heck, she'd _been_ Übercharged often enough herself, she ought to recognize it. It would only last for a few seconds, she knew, but before it ended, the RED Heavy would be invincible. And he was tearing up her Engineer's Sentry gun.

The Sentry was returning fire, but it might as well have been a water gun for all the good it was doing. The impact of the bullets was enough to keep the Heavy from pressing forward, but he didn't _need_ to. The Sentry was well within the range of his mini-gun. She had to do something. If she could get close enough, she might be able to knock him off the path with a blast of compressed air. Of course, she'd have to run right into his line of fire to it, and that didn't seem conducive to not dying.

She didn't get a chance to decide. The Engineer grabbed her shoulder, and pulled her off the platform with him. They landed heavily, and she knew her knees and ankles were not going to forgive her for awhile, but at least they weren't about to be filled with a surplus of lead.

Above them, the Sentry exploded.

---

He hadn't been quick enough to avoid the blow completely, but at least he managed to avoid getting a knife shoved into his spine. It bit into his shoulder, instead, and he swung around to bludgeon the BLU Spy with the butt of his rifle. The BLU darted out of the way, and there was a pause as they sized each other up. The Sniper reached for his machine gun. "Not bad. Almost didn't 'ear ya that time."

This Spy's accent wasn't quite as thick as their own bloody wanker's was (He was pretty sure the RED Spy could turn it off and on as desired, but that was neither here nor there), though the BLU still sounded more posh than was good for him. The Spy looked down his nose at the assassin. "There will not be a next time, I assure you."

The Sniper smirked. "Planning on dying, mate?" Without waiting for a reply, he opened fire. It went without saying that he was a good shot, though he was better with his rifle. The machine gun seemed so... amateurish, spraying bullets everywhere, that he only really carried it when he had to. Still, he was a good shot. It wasn't surprising that he hit the Spy.

Especially since the bastard _let_ him.

Winged, really, if he had to be honest, but it didn't matter. The BLU's corpse hit the floorboards like a puppet with its strings cut. _I walked right inta that one. Stupid bloody idiot... two mistakes! Two! Where's your 'ead t'day, mate?_

He strode over to put his back against the wall and sprayed the room with his machine gun, with no telltale glimmer of blue to let him know he'd hit something invisible. _Could be more thorough... This clip's almost 'ad it, though._ And the Spy would almost certainly jump him when he tried to reload. Besides, he was a _sharpshooter_. The "pray and spray" tactic was for blokes who couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. Instead, he strained his ears, searching for any little whisper of noise.

There was the faintest of rustles, and then the Spy uncloaked right next to him, his pistol already aimed at the Sniper's head. Small mercy their weapons didn't work while they were cloaked, he supposed, and lashed out with one long leg, catching the BLU square in the stomach. He watched as he muzzle of the gun traveled downwards, as the Spy folded up. It had just reached the top button on his shirt when it went off.

He started to bring his gun up to bear, and the Spy shot him again. Then the ground hit him. He was dimly aware of firing the SMG until it started clicking uselessly in his hand, though he honestly couldn't tell if he'd hit anything besides the wall.

_Well,_ the Sniper observed, dispassionately, as the world faded away, _It 'ad t' 'appen sometime. _

_---  
_

Hard Hat had just about got his Sentry back up when gun fire rang out from the battlements. The Engineer shot a concerned frown at the open windows, but the Scout wasn't worried. It wasn't like the Aussie couldn't take care of himself, right? No one was more badass than the Sniper. Except maybe Batman. And the Scout, himself, obviously.

Sure enough, the last shots were from the Sniper's machine gun, and a moment or two later, he appeared in the window and tipped his hat to the Scout and Engineer. The runner grinned, trying to ignore the stupid little voice of paranoia nagging at him. Right before the Sniper disappeared from view, the Scout could've sworn he'd shot a glance over towards the BLUs.

_He was just makin' sure they were still there, _he reassured himself, that was probably it. After all, it was pretty lucky they hadn't taken the opportunity to move up while the Sniper was distracted. Loudly, obviously distracted. They couldn't have missed it. _Yeah, but they're friggin' morons._

There was a pretty impressive explosion as the Demoman set off his sticky bombs. Impressive, but totally useless, as far as the Scout could tell, because nobody had been nearby when they'd gone off. And, then, the BLU poked his one eye around the abandoned dump truck parked next to the Control Point, and started launching his bombs so they landed right next to the Sentry gun. Hard Hat swore and started trying to shoot them off his "baby," but all the Scout could think about was that the BLUs were moving up. They shouldn't be able to do that. The Sniper had them pinned down.

Except, the Sniper wasn't shooting them. The BLUs were practically painting targets on their heads and prancing around under his enormous nose, and the Sniper wasn't shooting them.

The only possible explanation was that he couldn't.

Well, all right, there were probably several explanations, but the Scout had started running the second it had occurred to him, so he might as well check, right? Unable to slow down enough for the turn, he half-bounced off the wall and through the door that led up to the battlements. He heard Hard Hat yell something after him, but he didn't even pretend to listen. He had to see for himself.

Besides, if the Sniper really was okay, then the Scout could just use the extra height from the battlements to jump down on the friggin' Demoman's head. Which would be awesome.

---

She tried setting the Heavy on fire when he started down the stairs towards the Control Point, but his Medic was smart, and stayed out of sight while his Medigun extinguished the flames. Seething, she kept trying. _Since when did the REDs have a Medic, anyway?_

Behind her, the Engineer was putting up a new Sentry gun. The RED Heavy heard him, however, and swung his gun around so he could blow it apart before it was finished. The Uber had long since run out, but that didn't make much of a difference. The RED's effective range was still longer than her's, and unless he could get a Sentry up, none of the Engineer's weapons could do any damage that wouldn't be healed a second or two later by the Heavy's Medic. _Where the hell did they get a Medic?!_

Fortunately, the Heavy seemed content with just keeping the two BLUs from getting closer---once they'd hurriedly backed away, he stopped firing, and just kept his minigun spinning, menacingly.

"Alert!" announced the Announcer, as the RED Heavy stepped off the last step, and onto the BLUs' point. "Our Control Point is being contested!"

_No. Really? _The Pyro wished, not for the first time, that she could set the Announcer on fire.

She felt the Engineer's hand on her shoulder again. "We'll get the Sniper. C'mon!"

The Sniper could definitely take care of those two, she knew. That was probably a better idea than standing out of the Heavy's range, trying to will him into spontaneous combustion by sheer force of will alone (it was bound to work, some day). It wouldn't be as fun, but it was a better idea. _Stupid logic._

With a nod, she shot once last glare at the REDs on the Point, and sucked in a startled breath. Now that the BLUs were out of range, the RED Medic had come down to join his partner on the point, and she finally got a good look at him. Under her gas mask, her jaw dropped. _No. That can't... _She gave herself a mental slap. _He's dead! That's not him!_

He was watching her. It was hard to tell, from this distance, through the darkened goggles on her mask---not to mention, her Medic had been pretty stingy with his facial expressions to begin with---but he looked... guilty. Except, that had to just be her imagination, because that was definitely _not her Medic._

Turning away from the Point, she ran after the Engineer.

---

This, the BLU Sniper reflected, had not been a good day. It had started with the Pyro being belligerent, and the maniac's co-conspirators amongst the new blokes quietly encouraging it. They were definitely going to be trouble. _Then_ half of his bloody offense up and vanished in the middle of the bloody battle. And now, just when things were finally starting to shape up? _This_ happened.

He paused to send another arrow zipping back at his pursuer. There was a loud rush of air as the RED Pyro deflected it, and kept on coming. The RED had chased him into uncontested territory, and wasn't showing any signs of stopping. At least he'd managed to ditch the Soldier. The RED berserker was the Demoman's problem now.

On the bright side, the Pyro was bound to run out of fuel for his flamethrower soon. Then they'd find out how well the RED could catch arrows.

"Alert! Our Control Point is being contested!"

Somebody up there was laughing at him. That was the only explanation. But, fine, if that's how they were going to play it, he could deal with that. It wouldn't be hard to back to the BLU Control Point, even with the Pyro chasing him, and then whoever was sitting on it could just _die_. Technically, yes, he'd be launching an attack from uncontested territory, but if anyone wanted to complain, they could take it up with the bloody RED who'd chased him there.


	19. Slapdash

A/N: Hiya folks. My apologies that this update has been somewhat longer in coming, but I'm still working on Chapter 20, and I was hoping to build up more of a buffer. *heh* In anycase, here's a big ol' chunk of an update, to hopefully make up for it.

* * *

To the Scout's dismay, there was no sign of an upright, breathing, totally all right RED Sniper when he reached the battlements. Instead, there was a sprawled, bleeding, unconscious _please, please just be unconscious_ RED Sniper.

'Course, "bleeding" was something of an understatement. The Australian had two friggin' gigantic holes in his chest, and if his shirt hadn't already been red...

"Need a Dispenser here!" the Scout yelled at the window.

"Alert! Our Control Point is being contested!" retorted the Announcer. The sounds of gunfire and explosions drifted through the window. Sounded like the Engineer had his hands full, and the BLUs probably wouldn't let him just leave. The Scout would have to do something, himself.

The words _Stop the bleeding_ popped into his head and he raced back down the stairs, over to the nearest Resupply closet, rummaging through it with impatience. Definitely not panic. No friggin' way was this panicking. _C'mon c'mon where's a frickin' First Aid kit, c'mon you stupid piece of- Finally! Holy jeez!_

Back up the stairs. Yanked the stupid kit open. Tried not to stare at the contents blankly for more than a second or two. There was some gauze. That was probably a good place to start. He wadded up a bunch and, remembering vaguely something about putting pressure on a wound, pressed it firmly over the bullet holes. A second later, he was rewarded by the chest beneath his hands rising and falling in a jerky, shuddering breath. Sure, it didn't feel like a particularly healthy breath, but he would totally, totally take it.

Now what, though? This wasn't gonna last forever, he had to think of something else. Why the hell was _he_ up here, anyway? He was good at hurting people, he didn't know how to... _un_hurt somebody. That was the Doc's job.

_The Doc! _He would have hit his forehead, if his hands weren't sorta busy already. _That's right, we have a Medic now._ _I am a friggin' moron! _

"MEDIC!"

Of course, it was only after he started yelling that it occurred to him the Medic was all the way on the other side of the battlefield. He'd heard the Announcer announce the BLUs' Point being contested, for pete's sake. There was no possible way the Doc could hear him.

---

The Medic stiffened and scowled at the tunnel the BLUs had just disappeared down. The Spy, who had uncloaked the moment the coast was clear, arched a brow at him. "Somezing wrong?"

Someone was yelling for him. Not that he could _hear_ them, of course, they were too far away for that. But it was a standard ability for a Medic, and he'd felt the sensation often enough, over the years, that it was easily recognizable. It was a bit like someone had walked over his grave. Well, no, more like someone was jumping up and down on it, yelling "HEY!" at the top of their lungs. He couldn't get more than a sense of _zhat-a-way_ for location, but he could tell that whoever it was, they were uninjured. Considering that, of the four people who knew he'd joined the REDs, three of them were on the BLU Control point, it was almost certainly the Scout. Odds were, therefore, pretty good that he was just being annoying.

He opened his mouth to say as much, and the _Calling for you! Over Here! I am Uninjured, and Not on Fire!_ feeling twinged again.

"Someone is calling for Medic," the Heavy explained, nodding knowingly.

The Spy looked skeptical. "I don't hear anyzing."

"_You_ are not a Medic," the big man pointed out, patronizingly, as if he thought the Spy was being particularly dense. The Medic wished he could take a picture of the Spy's expression (it deserved to be preserved for posterity), but his amusement was quickly disrupted by another call for help. If the Scout kept this up, the Medic was going to have to go over there just to throttle him.

The Spy was still trying valiantly not to look irritated, and the Medic took pity on him. It was a little surprising that the masked man didn't know this already. How long had this team been without a Medic, anyway? "I've been told zhat it is similar to zhe way an Engineer knows zhat one of his machines is being sapped, or damaged, wizhout being nearby." The feeling twinged again, and he resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, since the hint of a newly beginning headache was mostly just his imagination. "It is probably zhe Scout," he added, with a touch of exasperation.

"Hurt?" the Heavy inquired.

The Spy pointedly did not ask how the Medic would possibly be able to know that. Which was just as well, because he really didn't feel like elaborating. "No. But, he's being... insistent." He'd have to go and find out what was the matter. If nothing was, _then_ he could murder the Scout, but first he had to be sure. "You two have zhis vell in hand," he continued, gesturing at the Control Point. "I am going to go find out vhat zhe problem is."

"I will come, also."

Not about to argue with the Heavy, he glanced at the Spy, who shrugged. "I believe I can adequately defend myself from nonexistent opponents," he pointed out, with an amused smirk.

The Medic snorted and started back up the stairs.

---

Outside the window, the sounds of fighting continued, and the Scout was having a hard time just sitting still and listening to them. He was missing all the fun! It wasn't frickin' fair.

Underneath his hands, the Sniper's chest rose, jerkily. The Scout waited, nervously, trying not to fidget, and after a long second or two, the breath was let out again in a rush. It seemed like it was taking way too long for the older man's chest to rise again, but then again, it had seemed that way for every single friggin' breath since the Scout had started paying attention.

But the Sniper couldn't die. He was gonna _owe_ the Scout for this, big time, and there was no friggin' way the Aussie was just gonna weasel out of it. End of discussion.

"DOC!"

Glass shattered outside, over a grunt of pain, and the sound of a body hitting the ground (At least, he thought that was what it was, and he'd heard it often enough to be pretty sure). Farther away, the Soldier shouted "MAGGOT!" but nothing started exploding, so the freakin' moron must have been out of rockets. Or he didn't want to blow up the Engineer. Either way.

The sounds went back to the indistinguishable thwacks, thuds, and grunts of guys trying to beat each other to death with blunt objects. And he was _missing_ it.

"Yo! MEDIC!"

_He's all the way over on the other point, dumbass. There is no frickin' way he's gonna hear you from all the way over here_.

"Shut up." He took a deep breath. "DOC! _C'mon_, man!"

The Demoman howled in pain---He was _missing_ it, dammit!---and then there was a weird pop-hiss sort of sound. Suddenly, the Soldier was announcing to the world that "I! AM! ON! FIRE!"

"Thanks for the update, moron." Captain America could just put his own damn self out, instead of yelling about it. _He_ was busy. And after this, the Scout was _done_ saving peoples lives if it didn't involve beating other people in the face with a baseball bat. "Yo, DOC!"

Somewhere nearby, Sasha started spinning. There was no mistaking the sound of the Heavy's minigun, it was friggin' loud. It had to be Sasha, too, because the BLU Heavy was already dead. And if Sasha was nearby, it meant the Heavy was nearby, which meant- "_DOC! _Yo, Doc, C'MON! DOC! Medic! MEDIC! C'mon, man! _Medi-_"

There was an exasperated sigh from the staircase. "I heard you zhe _first _time, dummkopf." A second or two behind his voice, the Medic appeared, looking just as exasperated as he'd sounded. And red. Very red. It was really, really weird, the Scout realized, to see the Doc wearing red.

"_Vhat_ is-" The new RED started, his tone irritated, as he reached the top of the stairs. But, by then he'd spotted the Sniper, and didn't need to finish the question.

It was probably impossible to get any more impatient. If the Scout got any more impatient, he was pretty sure he'd explode. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!"

The Medic nodded, but he didn't need the encouragement---he was already coming over to look down at the Scout's handiwork. For one long moment, in which the Scout wanted to yell at him to hurry the hell up, the Doc just studied the scene. Then...

"Not bad," the Medic noted. The Scout wasn't sure if he meant the Sniper's condition (in which case he was a frickin' _lunatic_), or the Scout's attempts at first aid. The Medic tapped his shoulder, adding, "Move."

He definitely didn't have to be told twice. The Scout scrambled out of the way, and the Medic took his place, gently peeling back the bloody gauze. Inspected the bullet holes, then glanced up at the walls with a thoughtful frown (the Scout followed his gaze, and had no friggin' clue what he was looking for). Then the Doc reached for his Medigun, pointed it at the Sniper and turned it on.

---

The BLU Sniper had found a tunnel that would bring him out into territory that was "legal" to launch an attack from, and was tempted to ignore it. The REDs on the Point would be expecting any retaliation of the BLUs part to be coming from that direction. He could take an alternate route, and catch them by surprise...

But, if RED Command considered this "cheating," and they probably would, then the BLUs might be forced to forfeit the territory even if he _had_ kept it from being captured. So, sending another arrow back at the RED Pyro to discourage the freak from following him, the BLU Sniper took the _technically legal_ tunnel towards the Point.

The RED Spy was lounging on it, smoking a cigarette and looking bored, like he was waiting for a cab, rather than wresting contested territory from an enemy team. The boredom disappeared as soon as the Spy spotted him, however, and a second later, so did the Spy. The Sniper was hardly surprised. Spies were bloody cowards, every single one of them.

He smiled and reached into one of the front pockets of his vest as he made his way up to the Control Point. _Now, if I was a posh wuss in a cheap suit, where would I be 'idin'..._

The BLU Sniper strolled up the bank to the Point, and stood on it, scanning around as if looking for the Spy. "Y'know," he remarked, "You blokes think you're so bloody clever, with all your little gizmos and gadgets. Waste of money, if you ask me."

The Spy didn't.

"All a bloke really needs is a bit of-" There, just the faintest whisper of shoe leather on concrete. In one swift movement, he turned and chucked the contents of his pocket at the noise. The jar shattered against something in mid-air, the yellowish, pungent liquid it had previously contained splashing pretty much everywhere. He _would_ have heard the sound of the RED Spy's cloaking device shorting out, if it hadn't been drowned out by a cry of pure revulsion and outrage.

_Second best bloody noise in th' whole damn world. _

_"-_ingenuity," he finished, smirking at the suddenly visible, horrified, and completely _soaked_ Spy.

---

There were no words. If there were, they would be woefully, utterly, _desperately_ inadequate to describe the utter _depth_ of his abject horror and humiliation. The BLU had actually thrown a jar of... of... The Spy couldn't bear to even think of it. How could anyone be that depraved? Didn't anyone understand how much these suits cost?

This BLU was _depraved_.

The only saving grace was that there were no other witnesses to his shame, except for the BLU, who he was going to _murder, _horribly and painfully, with his bare hands if necessary. And he was going to _remain composed_ while he did it, too. If he could be dignified _now,_ under these horrible, inhuman circumstances, it would be a crowning achievement. He was _not_ going to lose his-

Oh, _Merde_, it had got _everywhere_, this was _disgusting,_ what kind of criminal mind had come up with this horrible, horrible thing and why hadn't someone immediately _shot_ them for even _suggesting_ such a---No. Composed. Dignified, despite the circumstances. He was better than this, he was _not_ going to let this Sniper see him crack.

"How very humorous," the Spy sneered, his voice dripping with disdain---and he tried not to think about what _else_ he was dripping with. _Echh... Madre de Dios._

"I thought so, too," the BLU replied, still smirking.

It was simply too much. The Spy lunged, knowing full well that that was what the Sniper was expecting, and was unsurprised when the other man casually stepped out of the way. He was marginally surprised, however, when the Sniper stuck one lanky leg out in front of the Spy's rather pungent ones and then caught the Spy a blow across the back that didn't so much hurt as encourage his forward momentum to continue despite the RED's fervent wishes to the contrary. The Spy landed on his chin and immediately rolled away, half-dazed and infuriated, an arrow pinging off of the concrete he'd just been sprawled upon.

Apparently he was fighting a _circus clown_. Well, fine. The BLU wanted slapstick, did he? The Spy would _give_ him slapstick.

When he sprang to his feet, the Sniper was already lining up another shot. The Spy darted in and to the side, forcing the Sniper to either back up to shoot at him, or drop his weapon in favor of something more close range.

Or, apparently, try to bludgeon the Spy over the head with the bow, because that was the option the BLU chose, much to the Spy's surprise. This move wasn't particularly effective, but the weapon was large and clumsy enough that the Spy could easily get tangled in it if he wasn't careful, and that seemed to be the Sniper's ultimate goal. The Spy had other plans.

He snaked one arm between the bowstring and the bow itself, grabbed the brim of the Sniper's hat and yanked it down, firmly, over the BLU's eyes. The Sniper spouted some quaint, if infuriated, Australian lingo that he probably meant to be insulting, but it was music to the Spy's ears. A quick twist of his arm, and when he darted away again he brought the Sniper's bow with him. By the time the BLU had righted his hat, the Spy had pitched the weapon off the side of the Control Point and drawn his revolver.

This was a mistake.

Before he could get a shot off, the BLU Sniper threw his hat in the Spy's face and lunged in after it. The Spy ducked the hat, reflexively, and tried to club the BLU with the butt of his revolver---an inexcusably inelegant move, more the style of a common thug, but then again, the only witness was going to die horribly. If said witness would just _stand still_, so the Spy could shoot him.

The BLU wasn't about to cooperate. Seizing two handfuls of expensive, urine-soaked suit, the Sniper yanked his opponent forward and violently introduced the Spy's nose to his forehead.

The world exploded into stars and pain, but the Spy's knee connected, rather violently, with something soft that made the BLU grunt in pain and fold up. The hand holding his revolver came down, landing a blow on the Sniper's back that further encouraged this downward movement, though it wasn't enough to get the Sniper to let go of his suit.

And then the simultaneous sound of a flamethrower flaring up and the Announcer announcing to the world that "The Control Point is being contested!" heralded the arrival of the RED Pyro. This, however, was not much of a relief because, not only was there now a witness that, technically, he was not allowed to dispose of, but the BLU Sniper, still audibly gasping, took this opportunity to readjust his grip on the dazed Frenchman and hurl him squarely into the flames spewing from the Pyro's flamethrower.

---

The BLU Pyro was almost out of ammunition, which she felt was unfair, because the RED Soldier wasn't on fire anymore and this was a situation that needed to be rectified. He was also chasing her, which was a little more entertaining than life threatening, because he ran somewhat slower than she did---she'd had to stop and let him catch up a bit, a time or two----and rockets were easier to dodge than bullets. At least, they were when you had handy corners to duck around. She had tried to return fire, and peg him with another flare, but flares were easier to dodge than bullets, too.

But, the _really_ nice thing about being chased was that there wasn't a lot of time to brood while you were running for your life. She didn't have time to think about the mysterious RED Medic, or the fact that the BLU Sniper had screwed them all again and she was going to set him on _fire_ and then try to blame it on the Spy...

The Soldier had been chasing her since she and the Engineer had caught him trying to murder their Demoman on the RED Control Point. He'd been standing still, distracted by winding up for another swing at the staggering Scotsman with his shovel, and she hadn't had any trouble hitting him with a flare _that_ time.

Most people, upon finding themselves spontaneously combusted, started carrying on and trying to prevent their untimely firey death. The Soldier, however, had merely announced that he was on fire, as if he was barking orders to nonexistent troops, and then charged at her with a yell and his shovel.

He was, she'd decided, definitely _her_ kind of lunatic.

Meanwhile, her Engineer had slipped around to go and help their Demoman, but he lost the element of stealth when the Announcer announced, loudly, that the Point was being Contested as soon as he stepped on it.

The RED Soldier swung around in mid-charge to head back to the point, but she trotted up and knocked him on his posterior with a compression blast. Unfortunately, he landed in the creek and suddenly wasn't on fire anymore, but that was all right, because it wasn't as though he was going to _stop_ being flammable.

Of course, about then the RED Heavy showed up to ruin her fun and, since her teammates had disappeared off of the Control Point in the excitement, she decided that the better part of valor was not getting yourself shot full of custom tooled bullets, and scampered off down the nearby drain pipe that would lead her back to BLU base.

Obviously, the Soldier had followed her. Just as obviously, he had found an ammo cache on the way, and she was kicking herself for missing it. But, meh. While playing tag with a RED wasn't quite as fun as setting one on fire, at least while he was chasing her, he wasn't chasing her teammates. And sooner or later, she was bound to find some ammo. It was, therefore, inevitable that the RED would eventually catch on fire. Sooner or later.

She could be patient.

---

When the RED Spy landed and rolled into a crouch, he was marginally surprised to find that he was not, actually, on fire and, above him, the flamethrower was no longer belching flames. Apparently the RED Pyro had seen him coming and resisted the temptation to "accidentally" flambé one of his teammates. As surprises went, this was a rather welcome one.

Meanwhile, the BLU team's resident Australian had taken the opportunity to vault over the side of the point and retrieve his bow. For all the good it would do him: An arrow whizzed up at the REDs on the point and, his flamethrower letting out a gasp of compressed air, the Pyro bounced it effortlessly away.

Seizing the opportunity to collect himself, the Spy scrambled behind the masked maniac with as much dignity as he could muster, stood up and started inspecting the damage to his nose. The sounds of the BLU's swearing, as the Pyro deflected yet _another_ arrow, was a welcome salve to his shattered dignity.

"Success!" chimed the Announcer, smugly. The lights on the point changed to red, and the BLU down below took off running. For a second, the Spy was sure the Pyro was going to give chase---_he_ would have, but he was busy trying not to let his nose bleed all over his suit, and one had to have one's priorities straight---but instead the Pyro sent a rude gesture after the fleeing Sniper and turned to inspect the Spy. The bruised, bleeding, dripping, pungent Spy.

And then he snickered. It was muffled, but it was a _snicker_. The Pyro was _laughing_ at him.

"_Ta gueule_," the Spy hissed, vehemently. He didn't have to stand here and be _mocked_ by a mumbling lunatic who thought asbestos was the height of fashion and style and couldn't say two _coherent_ words to save his life. With his teammate's laughter ringing in his ears, the Spy stalked off towards the RED base (and its promise of a clean suit and hot shower). Technically, it was customary for the REDs to reconvene as a group, if possible, before heading back to base, and, if he were being reasonable, he would have to admit it would be prudent of him to make sure he was present when the rest of the team discovered the Medic's new allegiance.

At present, however, he was of the heartfelt opinion that the whole world---and _especially_ the Pyro---could just $% off and _die_.


	20. The Expected, and Unexpected

A/N: Ngh, smaller update, my apologies. It just couldn't be longer than it is, unfortunately. (And I really will be getting back to all-RED updates here, shortly. This'll be the last bit of spotlight that the BLUs share for awhile.)

* * *

It had gotten quiet outside, the yelling and shooting replaced by occupied silence. Since there had been no announcements of doom (or victory), the Medic had to assume the BLUs had been chased off. Or killed. But he wasn't going to think about that. There would be plenty of time for guilt later and he had more important things to worry about just now.

Not that using the Medigun on an unconscious patient required a whole lot of concentration. While, at least in his opinion, it did help to know things like which way your teammates' knees were supposed to bend, or what important organs had just been punctured (not to mention, where, exactly, said organs should go if you had to put them back), with the Medigun, the cure was essentially the same regardless of the injury. You just pointed it at someone and turned it on. It _had_ to be that easy, because normally, the most difficult part of the job was not letting the other team kill you while you were doing it.

In this particular situation, however, the most difficult part of the job was resisting the urge to _throttle_ the Scout. Behind him, the young man was fidgeting, anxiously, and so obviously _not_ asking if the Sniper was all right that he might as well have been shouting it. Finally, the Medic bit back a sigh. "He's fine. Stop hovering."

"I'm not!" ...was blurted out entirely too fast to be even a little believable.

"Of course not," the Medic agreed, patronizingly. "Stop anyvay."

"Heh." The chuckle was almost a cough, which was understandable, since it came out of a chest that had recently been shot full of holes. The Sniper's voice was a tad hoarse, but thoroughly amused, when he added, "Doctor's orders, ya twitchy little gremlin."

"Stupid friggin' moron," the Scout retorted, with unconcealed glee. "I just saved your friggin' _life_." He glanced at the Medic for confirmation.

Successfully concealing his amusement, the Medic nodded, slightly. When the Sniper looked skeptical, he added, grimly, "You vould have bled out long before I found you, if it vasn't for him."

While the Scout pumped a fist in the air and did a little victory dance, the Sniper stifled a groan and muttered, "You couldn't 'ave _lied_?"

The Medic didn't smirk, but it was a very near thing. "_Sorry_," he replied, with genuine, and deeply heartfelt insincerity.

"Some bloody 'elp _you_ are," the Sniper grumbled, and tried to sit up.

---

Waking up had come as something of a surprise, considering the state he'd been in when he'd left consciousness. Having never died before, the RED Sniper couldn't honestly say he was the best judge of what a fatal wound felt like, but all the same, it had felt pretty final at the time.

All things considered, it was a lot less surprising that he'd woken up to discover the BLU... nah, the _RED_ Medic kneeling over him, considering the previous assessment of fatal wounds and the fact that, if he was waking up from one, it was only logical to assume the Medic would have something to do about it. The Scout's involvement was unexpected, but maybe he wasn't giving the little munchkin enough credit. Possibly, just possibly, the kid deserved a "thank you."

Whether or not the twitchy little hooligan was going to _get_ one, depended entirely on how much the kid was going to _gloat._

Discovering that he could, in fact, sit up, the Sniper took a moment to find his hat, and assess the situation. He felt... well... _fine_. Better than fine, actually. He felt better than he had in years. Which was a little disorienting, considering he'd felt like death just a few... well, however long it had been ago. Had it really just been a couple of minutes?

With a mental shrug, the Sniper readjusted his hat and glanced over at his teammates, new and old. "What'd I m-"

"Success!" interrupted the Announcer, sounding as if _she _had single handedly accomplished their victory, instead of just sitting behind a microphone somewhere, berating everyone.

The Scout let out a victorious whoop and dashed down the stairs, shouting disparaging remarks about the BLUs and their parentage at the top of his lungs.

"Guess that answers that," the Sniper amended. "Never mind." He decided to experiment with standing up, and, with a hand up from the Medic, discovered his legs were amenable to the endeavor. That done, he looked around for his rifle. And caught sight of the Medic's expression. The doctor still had his Medigun latched onto the Sniper, but the look he was giving the Australian over it was close to one that the Sniper had seen before, a time or two. Through his scope. Right before the then-BLU Medic ducked for cover.

The Sniper quirked a brow at him, and pointed out, mildly, "I'm not going t' shoot you, mate."

The Medic _hmph_edin a tone that said _Yet_. But some of the tension went out of his shoulders, and his expression shifted from cautious to calculating. He frowned. "You veren't even a _little_ surprised to see me," the new-RED pointed out, his tone bordering on the accusatory.

"You really _are_ quick on th' uptake, aren'tcha?" The Sniper finished inspecting his rifle and sighted down the scope, experimentally. Satisfied that that it hadn't been damaged when he dropped it, he slung it over his shoulder, and glanced over at the Medic again. "I guess I should thank-"

"I vould rather you didn't," the Medic interrupted, firmly. Before the Sniper could reply, he added, "I suppose ve should, ah... meet up viz zhe rest of zhe team?" He sounded absolutely _thrilled_ at the prospect.

"Yep." The Sniper nodded. And then, unable to help himself, he added, with a small grin, "Don't worry. _Most _of 'em probably aren't going t' shoot you, either."

The Medic grimaced. "_Danke_," he replied, dryly. "You can be sure zhat I vill keep zhat in mind."

---

It had been a job and a half, hauling their semi-conscious, drunken, one-eyed Scotsman back to base, but somehow the BLU Engineer had managed it. The Demoman didn't seem that badly injured, except for an unlucky blow to the head. So long as the Engineer was holding him up, he didn't seem to be having more trouble walking in a straight line than he usually did, so the Texan was able to get him all the way to the base's Resupply room. The BLU Spy was already there, inexpertly trying to bandage himself up to a vehement litany of Italian curses. The European ignored his teammates when they entered, but as soon as he realized the Engineer was setting up a Dispenser, he found a reason to loiter conspicuously close enough that the machine latched a healing tendril onto him.

The Demoman sprawled himself down on the floor next to the Dispenser and muttered something that his accent, state of inebriation, and head trauma made completely unintelligible. The Engineer decided to translate it as "thanks," and set about upgrading his baby.

His poor baby. At least this one wouldn't be blown up, but he'd have to dismantle it, just the same. Sooner or later. Nothing he built could ever last.

He sighed.

"Nice job t'day, mate." The BLU Sniper's muffled voice drifted through the Resupply room's closed door. "I can tell y' really made an _effort._"

The Pyro replied, but, with the words _twice _muffled, the Engineer couldn't make out any of it. Nevertheless, the maniac's tone was pretty heated_._ It sounded like he was trying to give the Sniper a piece of his mind.

The Sniper's drawl, still muffled but considerably clearer without a gas mask to go through, interrupted the Pyro's tirade. "Speak up, mate. You're _mumblin'_."

There was a surprisingly loud hissing, _exhale_ sort of sound, a louder _thud_ of a soft body hitting something solid, and a grunt that was more surprised than hurt, and a muffled _snarl._

"Aw, hell." The Engineer was on his feet and out the door before he could talk himself out of it. He was just too damn _tired_ to want to get between two brawling teammates, but, hell, the Pyro was a decent guy (for a fire crazy psycho), and the last thing the team needed was those two killing each other.

He only realized that he hadn't really seriously thought that the Pyro and the Sniper were in danger of killing each other, when he got out into the hall and discovered that he should have.

The BLU base was set up underneath the facade of a garage (the Engineer was pretty sure that it hadn't ever really been used for fixing cars). A long, cement ramp sloped down into the main room where the base's Control Point was located. It was a big, mostly empty room, with steel supports and a floor tiled in grey and lighter grey. The floor was raised about a foot or two, separating the tile from the cement of the entrance ramp. A small stair, and an itty bitty ramp connected one surface to another (for the people who didn't have _knees_, apparently, and couldn't, say, just step up).

The Pyro and the Sniper had been standing not precisely in the middle of the room, on the tile near the entrance. _Had_ been standing: The Sniper was now sprawled flat on his back on the cement in front of the ramp, where the air blast from the Pyro's flamethrower must have knocked him.

There was another _hiss_ from the flamethrower, only this time no air, or flame, accompanied it. Growling in frustration, the Pyro dropped his flamethrower and reached for his axe.

"Whoa! _Whoa,_ there!" The Engineer vaulted the short railing that separated the walkway in front of the Resupply closet with the rest of the room, and grabbed the Pyro, meaning to haul him away from the prone Sniper.

...And wrapped his arms around some very, _very_ unexpected curves.

_What... what in tarnation?!_

The Pyro was yelling at him, but his (_her?!_) words seemed more along the lines of "Let me go!" and "He's a bastard, _let me kill him_." The Texan was distracted from an accurate translation, however, because he had suddenly realized _where his hands were._

Feeling his face going hot, the Engineer hastily readjusted his grip. The Pyro, fortunately, didn't even seem to notice.

The Sniper was carefully picking himself up, and the expression on his face was enough to snap the Engineer's attention back to the crisis at hand. _Aw, hell, wrong choice of words._ Dammit, was he _blushing_?!

"Thanks, mate." The words were quiet, and completely insincere. If a sharpened piece of obsidian was a sound, the Texan imagined it would probably sound something like that. If it was an expression, it would have been the one that the Sniper had focused on the Pyro. The Engineer found it a little unnerving, the way the Sniper could sight down an arrow at someone, without actually having bow and arrow in hand.

The Pyro tried to struggle free and spat something that sounded like: _You left him to die!_

The Sniper didn't seem to need a translation. "Its a battlefield, mate," he replied, still deadly quiet. "Lots of people _die_."

The revelation in his arms stopped struggling. _"Yeah_,_"_ the Pyro replied (probably), his... _her_ voice menacing._ "They do_._"_

It was fairly obvious that _neither_ of them were referring to the past.

The Engineer heaved a weary sigh. "We're all on th' same team, here, fellas." A little voice in the back of his head noted that the plural of the masculine term was hardly appropriate, considering the shape of the warm body in his arms, and he felt his face get hot again. Fortunately, both his teammates were too preoccupied with glaring each other to death, and didn't notice.

"Right," the Sniper replied, sarcasm thinly veiled. Touching the brim of his hat, mockingly, to them both, he stalked off.

As soon as the Australian was out of sight, the Engineer quickly loosened his hold on the Pyro and stepped away, putting a distance between them that was more seemly for a fella and a... a...

_Nah, it... it had t've been my imagination. Command wouldn't hire a..._

_...Not that there's anything _wrong_ with a..._

_But this is th' _Pyro_. He _cain't_ be a..._

Suddenly, he realized the Pyro was staring at him.

"Mm mph mmh mmhh?" Used to long years of working with other Pyros, his brain helpfully translated: _Are you all right?_

"Y..." _His arms closed around some very unexpected__ curves._ The Engineer cleared his throat and tried again. "Yep. Uh. Better... better get back t' my Dispenser. If you'll 'scuze me..."

He turned on his heel and fled, leaving a very baffled BLU Pyromaniac behind.


	21. Regroup

A/N: You have the Soldier to blame for the extra time this update took. I have the toughest time writing for him. Ah well. I am satisfied with how he's turning out...

In anycase, I will endeavor to update again, as soon as possible... but at the same time, I don't want to rush too much and sacrifice good story. So! Be assured that I'm going to finish this, though I can't say anything more specific than "soon."

* * *

Someone knocked on his door, and the RED Spy took a quick assessment of his situation. He was clean again, at least as much as a quick shower and some rather un-dignifiedly frantic scrubbing could get him, and he'd had a chance to change into a clean suit. The old suit... was not worth mentioning. Ever. Ever. Again. His cloaking device was still fritzing, he'd had to throw out a whole pack of cigarettes and his disguise kit/cigarette case was going to need a thorough cleaning as well... But, he supposed he was presentable. And, while he would have liked nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die from the horror and humiliation, he was _better _than that. He would _not_ be broken by a ridiculous, uncivilized buffoon, not even one so obviously depraved.

So, the Spy selected a cigarette from his new pack, and lit it. Savored it for a moment. Then, making sure he was carefully composed, his dignity at least _seeming_ to be intact, he opened the door and glared at the Sniper on the other side of it. "Yes?"

"Truckie knows. He 'ad a bit of a concussion, apparently, and th' good doctor took care of it."

The Spy arched a brow. "And?"

"'E's a bit... pissed."

If it had been anyone but the Sniper, the flinch would have been completely imperceptible. Unfortunately, it was, and so it _wasn't_.

His comrade arched an inquisitive eyebrow. Determined to ignore it, the Spy pushed his door open farther, so he could slip past the Sniper. "I will handle it, zen."

He heard the Sniper sniff. Then, "Think you might've overdone it on the cologne, mate."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," the Spy lied, dismissively, without looking back.

The Sniper caught up with him after a few strides. "Pyro mentioned you were... what'd 'e say? Said you were _pissed off_ when y' left the Point." There was a pause, and then the Sniper added, cheerfully, "At least, that's what it sounded like. 'Course, it was a bit 'ard t' make out. 'E was laughin' pretty 'ard."

"He was mistaken," the Spy replied, calmly, making a mental note to find a way to _kill_ the Pyro without anyone noticing.

"If you say so." The Sniper fell into step beside him, and added, "Any'ow... Th' Soldier didn't meet up with us at th' point, so Pyro's gone off t' look for 'im. I told th' kid t' show our new Medic around th' base. Figgered it'd keep 'em both out of Truckie's way." Then, obviously unable to help himself, the Sniper needled, "Y'know, I bet th' good doctor could fix your nose right up, if ya wanted."

Firmly clamping down on his composure, the Spy didn't allow himself a glare, or a sigh, or even a clenched jaw. He did, however, allow himself a brief fantasy about the Sniper's swift and brutal death. _Strangulation, perhaps? _

The Sniper whistled, softly. "Its _really_ got you rattled, eh, mate?"

The Spy shot him a glare, and, carefully enunciating his words so that the uneducated, unwashed, inarticulate imbecile could not possibly fail to understand him, snapped, "I am not rattled."

"You sneaky, underhanded, conniving, gutless _bastard!_" The Engineer's voice, furious as it was, was a welcome interruption. In fact, as the Texan approached, the Spy noted that he had never, in his life, been so happy to see an irate Engineer charging towards him with a wrench.

The Engineer didn't have it _raised_, of course. While a certain amount of infighting was tolerated, attacking a member of your own team with a lethal weapon was... frowned upon. He was, however, smacking it rather menacingly against the palm of his other hand. "This mess has got your greasy prints all over it. What d'you think you're up to? That... _BLU_... cain't just join up, just because you say so!"

Well, technically, he could. At least as far as Command was concerned: The Spy was, officially, the leader of this little band. However, it might not be prudent to _say_ so just now. "Of course not," the Spy agreed, silkily, instead. "Obviously, we will have to vote on ze matter," he added, with the smug confidence of a defense lawyer who had already seen fit to bribe the jury.

"Yeah, I _bet_." The Engineer scowled. "I noticed _I_ was th' only one surprised to see th'..." He paused, and seemed to struggle for a moment to find a less insulting word, because he finally settled for the unimaginative "..._Medic_ show back up on th' battlefield. In _our_ gosh darn colors." He shot the Sniper an accusing look, and added, an injured tone suddenly underlying his irritation, "Y'all went sneaking around behind my back."

The Sniper had the decency to look a bit shamefaced at this, for a moment or two. (The Spy, of course, had no decency whatsoever, and kept his features carefully schooled.) "Didn't think you'd go for the idea, mate."

The Engineer growled. "This is about th' gol darn _sink_, isn't it?"

The Sniper arched a brow and opened his mouth, but the Spy cut him off, smoothly. "Non. Of course not. Why ever would you say zat?"

The Engineer glared at him, and muttered, "You're a damn liar."

The Spy smirked, slightly, and placed a hand on his chest, adopting an obvious mockery of a shocked and hurt expression. "Moi?"

"You _'ave_ been a bit... 'igh strung, lately, mate," the Sniper interrupted, mildly, before the situation could devolve. He was, the Spy had to grudgingly admit, fairly quick on the uptake.

A snarl on his face, the Texan whirled on the Sniper... and then stopped himself. He let out the breath he'd been about to yell with as a sigh, instead, and scrubbed a hand across his face. "Yeah, yeah... I know." He took another deep breath, and let it out. "Still, woulda been nice t' get a heads up." The Texan frowned at the Sniper again, but there wasn't as much fire in it, this time, and added, "We're a team, aren't we?"

"S'right." The Sniper touched the brim of his hat, apologetically. "Wont 'appen again. 'Sides..." The lanky man jabbed the Spy with one boney elbow, and added, "It was _'is_ idea."

The Engineer snorted. "Figured."

Pointedly brushing off his suit where he had been so inelegantly jabbed, the Spy sniffed, disdainfully, "If you two ingrates have finished wasting my time-"

"Wasting?" the Engineer interrupted, scowling.

"-I still have work to do." With a dismissive wave, the Spy brushed past him without a second glance. And realized he was already starting to feel better. Apparently, there was nothing quite like taunting an Engineer to lift one's spirits, even if it was your own.

---

The Medic hadn't realized he'd actually been relying on the Spy, until the other man hadn't reappeared after the battle. Ironic as it was to rely on a _Spy_, it was even more ironic to realize he was _worried_ about one---and not in his usual paranoid _He's out zhere somewhere, Mein Gott, he could be anyvun!_ way about an enemy Spy.

He would have been more worried, if they hadn't heard by word of muffled mouth that the Spy was alive and well, just stalking back to base, apparently in a snit. It wasn't all that reassuring, however. Hesitant as the Medic was to believe he could even begin to guess what the Spy was up to, it didn't seem like the man to disappear just when all his plans and schemes were starting to come to fruition. And this, after all, this had to be what the Spy had been scheming, all along. Probably. Possibly. _I mean, how do you know for sure vhat a _Spy_ is up to, really?_ But, no... It _had_ to be. He was just being paranoid again.

Probably.

The Medic stifled a sigh. He was starting to miss the days when he hadn't needed to try and think like a Spy, just to keep up. _How does somevun live in such a twisty, sneaky mind and not go crazy?_

Anyway, that wasn't the point. The point was, he was actually genuinely _worried _about a Spy's welfare. One who---and admittedly, it was becoming rather redundant and pointless to cling to this fact---had been trying to kill him less than a week ago.

It was... incredibly strange.

Not that he wasn't worried about himself, as well. But, while the Engineer had been by no means _pleased_ to see him, the Texan hadn't been murderous. Nor had the Pyro. And the Soldier was nowhere to be found. As the other shoe, so to speak, continued blissfully to _not_ drop, and his inevitable doom kept completely failing to descend upon him, the Medic was having some serious difficulty keeping his hopes from rising. To quash the mad idea that he might actually get _away_ with this, maybe even in one piece. Because there was no possible way that this was going to actually work. He just knew it. Nothing in his life could _possibly_ be this easy.

_Easy. Ha. _He tried not to remember the way the BLU Pyro stared at him, across the battlefield. They'd been allies just a few days ago, and now... How... how could he _do_ this?

Seeking reassurance, or possibly just distraction, he turned his attention back to what the RED Heavy was saying, and tried to look interested.

His tour of the RED base had been fairly short, mostly because the Scout's patience was almost instantly worn thin when he found out he'd have to slow up for the Heavy, who insisted on coming along. It was, however, a better tour than the one he had gotten back at BLU base, which had more or less consisted of "This is BLU base. Pick a room." The tour ground to a halt next to the Control Point, but not because the point itself was of any great interest. The Heavy had noticed the dead BLUs.

The big man knelt down next to his deceased, BLU counterpart. His attention was not on his doppelganger, however, but on the huge gun that the dead BLU had dropped. According to the big Russian gunner, it was _not_ like Sasha. All the Medic knew (and cared) was that it was big and had recently shot at him, but the Heavy seemed to think it was interesting, so he was willing to stand and look attentive. "See?" the big man was saying, "She is using strange ammunition." The Heavy made a dismissive noise, holding one up for the doctor's inspection.

The Medic eyed the offered bit of ammunition and made a noncommittal noise.

A bullet was a bullet, as far as he was concerned: Just a little deadly piece of metal that he had to dig out of a teammate. Or dodge. Usually dodge.

Not put off by his audience's lack of enthusiasm, the Heavy continued, "These... they will not do so much damage."

The Scout, who was balancing on the dead BLU Heavy's back like a miniature colossus, arms folded and obviously bored, interrupted, "Hey, Doc. Does '_she_' look thinner'n Sasha, t' you?"

The Medic started to reply in the negative, though he really couldn't see any difference between the guns, himself. It was better to be safe than sorry. The Scout, however, hadn't been looking for an actual response.

"I mean, Sasha's kinda chunky, isn't she?"

The Heavy shot the young man a dirty look and gave his own minigun a loving caress. "Don't listen to tiny man, Sasha. You are not fat."

"_Chunky_," the Scout insisted.

The Heavy glanced up at the Medic, "What do _you_ thi-"

The big man broke off, abruptly, his gaze sliding past the Medic and focusing on something behind him. His features rearranged themselves into a frown, and the Heavy stood and cracked his knuckles, menacingly, glaring at the something over the top of the Medic's head.

A small part of him was quite relieved that he'd been rescued from the awkward position of trying to carefully avoid offending a _gun. _The rest of him froze. _Oh, Scheiße. Zhis cannot possibly be good._

The Scout followed the Heavy's gaze, and muttered, "Wuh-oh."

Against his better judgment, the Medic turned around. The Soldier was standing at the top of the stairs, scowling down at them. His uniform was smoking, and the burns on the one side of his face were obviously not doing anything to improve his mood. Slowly and deliberately, he began stalking down the stairs.

A big hand landed on the Medic's shoulder, and he found himself being propelled backwards as the Heavy interposed himself between the doctor and the incoming Soldier.

---

The Heavy had been serious when he'd told the little doctor that, if anyone wanted to hurt him, they would have to go through the Russian, first. That the "anyone" in question was one of his teammates was unfortunate. Command would probably not be pleased. But this was more important. He finally had a Medic again, and he was not going to let _this_ one down. This time he wouldn't screw up. This time was going to be _different_.

The tiny man hopped down off the dead BLU's chest and, to the Heavy's amusement, adopted a defiant stance that was just asking for a fight. Apparently, the tiny man was of a similar mind: If the Soldier wanted the Medic, he would have to go through the tiny man, too.

"Yo, Cap'n America!" The Scout heckled, "Where've _you_ b-"

The Soldier stalked straight up to the Scout, and kept stalking. Startled, the little man tried to back away, but the Soldier kept on coming, until the Scout had backed right into the Heavy (who had absolutely no intention of moving). Then, finally, the crazy man rocked to a halt, an inch from the Scout's nose, and demanded, quietly, "You call yourself a RED, private?"

The Heavy had never heard the Soldier use a volume that was any less than the top of his lungs. This was new and different, and possibly a bit troubling. On the other hand, he could live with new and different, so long as it wasn't being directed at _his_ Medic.

"Of _cour-_" the Scout started, trying to sound belligerent, and failing. He seemed just as surprised and confused by this sudden lack of volume as the Heavy was.

"_Did I say you could talk, maggot?_" The Soldier hissed. The Scout's mouth snapped shut with an audible snap, though, knowing the little man, more out of surprise than a sense of self preservation. "Do you know what _RED _stands for, you worthless piece of scum?"

Ooh, he knew this one. "Reliable-" the Heavy started, helpfully.

"_It stands for courage_," the Soldier ploughed on, ignoring the Russian gunner. "Determination. _Loyalty_." He growled the last one, drawing it out. (The Heavy frowned. That couldn't be right. Those words didn't even start with the right letters.) "Don't you _dare_ stand here and tell me you're a _RED_ after you _abandoned_ your-"

"Hey, th' BLUs had a Sentry on th' point, what was I supposed-"

"_Abandoned_," the Soldier repeated, fiercely, cutting the tiny man off. "_Your. Team. _You _ran_ and left the Engineer to defend the point _with his bare hands_, you _coward_."

---

"Wh-?" Hard Hat? He hadn't left... well, okay, maybe he had, but it wasn't like that. Hard Hat had been fine, and the _Sniper_ needed help. The Scout had saved his _life_. Rallying, the runner tried to interject. "But I-"

Good ol' Captain America wasn't listening (as per usual). He ran right over the Scout's protest without even pausing for breath. What wasn't usual was that he wasn't yelling. The Soldier never _not_ yelled. The Scout had never, ever seen him like this, even when (or, possibly, _especially_) when they were fighting.

It was slowly starting to occur to the Scout that the Captain was really, seriously, _actually_ pissed. And not just his usual "Full of rage, because other emotions are for _sissies_" anger. Like, angry _for a reason_.

"What's the matter, _maggot_, the BLUs too _scary_ for you? Or maybe you think you're too _good_ to _defend a point_. If you can't _attack_ then you _defend_, you sorry excuse for a _soldier_. _That's how it works_."

Why did _everyone_ think he was slacking?! "_Hey_," the Scout tried, vehemently, "I-"

"_Don't make excuses_," the Soldier hissed. "You _left a man behind_. Nothing excuses that!"

"But-"

"You're a _disgrace_. It would be a waste of ammo to _shoot_ you-"

"Hey!"

"-you cowardly, traitorous little _wuss_. I should-"

The Doc cleared his throat.

---

The Medic tried to stop the Soldier's words from ringing in his ears, but all he could hear was "_Abandoned. Your. Team." _Over and over. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to get a hold of himself. _Stop vhining, _he scolded, silently. _He vasn't talking to you._

Which meant nothing, really. Because if the man was this incensed about what the Scout had done, the Medic didn't want to imagine what he'd think of a _trai-_ ...of a BLU defecting to the RED team.

_Oh Gott, vhat am I-_

No. _No_. This was the _right thing to do._ Or, at least, if it wasn't, then there _wasn't_ a "right thing" to do. Just whatever wasn't _worse_ than the alternative. And the alternative _was_ worse, he knew. Much, much worse. Because, while it would certainly have been easy enough to go back to the BLUs, it would mean...

He wouldn't be able to do it. Try to kill the Scout? The Heavy? Or even the damn _Spy_? It was utterly ridiculous, but, he'd rather give the Sniper a clear shot of his forehead, than be forced to kill his...

His friends.

_Verdammte Scheiße. _What was he doing, making _friends_ in this hell hole? He knew better than that. _I must be crazy_. _Zhat is zhe only explanation._

The Medic dragged his attention back to the crisis at hand. Just in time to notice that the Spy had finally reappeared. The other man was loitering in the nearby doorway, _watching_ him. Scrambling to smooth the guilt off of his face, he shot the Spy a glare that warned, _You didn't see zhat._

The Spy retorted with an entirely too innocent expression that didn't look at home on his face. _See what?_

Composure regained, the Medic stifled a snort and edged over so he could actually see around the Heavy's shoulder. The Scout was pinned between the bemused giant and the furious lunatic, and trying to protest, but the Soldier was persisting in his accusations with all the gentle finesse and diplomacy of a full nelson being performed by a Heavy Weapon's Guy.

_Zhis is not a good idea. _He cleared his throat, and interjected, sharply, "He vas helping zhe Sniper."


	22. Perceptions

A/N: In which the Pyro is a sneaky ninja, the Soldier has a unique relationship with reality, and the Engineer and the Sniper can't stand the Heavy's singing.

(I slacked and missed NaNoWriMo. Instead, I'm setting a deadline for myself: Finish this fic by the end of December. I don't foresee much difficulty: we're in the homestretch.)

* * *

The Soldier cut off, mid-snarl, and swiveled to scowl at the Medic. The Heavy shifted his weight, preparing to step between them again, but the Medic raised a hand to forestall him. He'd have to get this over with sooner or later, and if he couldn't stand up to his own team mates, then he would be a pretty ineffective Medic indeed. (Though it did, admittedly, help his confidence a great deal to have a friend at hand who was huge and could break people in half.)

But, strangely enough, the Soldier wasn't yelling at him. The man wasn't even _not_ yelling, in that unnervingly quiet tone that he'd been using on the Scout. He was just scowling at him, silently. The Medic would have used the word "staring," but that description couldn't really be applied to someone who wore their combat helmet down over their eyes.

After a long second or two passed without violence erupting, the Medic, at a loss for something better to do, elaborated, "Zhe Sniper vas shot, twice, in zhe chest. Vun shot vasn't as serious," he continued, indicating on his own chest the spot up by his collar bone where, on the Sniper, there had previously been a hole, and then tapping a spot a few inches lower, "But zhis vun vould have hit a lung. I cannot be certain, but I vould guess zhat it missed zhe major artery zhere, ozzervise he vould have bled out before even zhe Scout got to him."

Still no response.

With the same suicidal curiosity of someone poking an angry badger with a stick just to see _when_ (not if) it was finally going to react, the Medic continued, "As it vas, he-" he nodded to the Scout, who was watching them with an expression of pure horror, "-managed to staunch zhe bleeding, and zhen called for help." Which they were _definitely _going to have a chat about later. Never mind that it had been effective, there were other ways of attracting the Medic's attention that wouldn't encourage the doctor to start contemplating the best way to remove the Scout's lungs, and debating whether or not the young man actually _needed_ them.

The Scout did win a few points, however, when he decided to chime in, apparently feeling the need to leap to the rescue of his rescuer. "See? S'what I was tryin' to _tell_ y-"

The Soldier snapped to life and turned back to the Scout, cutting him off with a curt, "_You_ don't _get_ to talk."

The young man's expression turned indignant. "But I-!"

"Tiny man should let Doktor handle this," the Heavy rumbled. "You do not want more trouble, da?"

The Scout tilted his head back, trying to see the big man's face and spluttered, "Hey! I'm not _in_ trouble!"

"I can't say zat I agree with your assessment of ze situation," the Spy observed, with unconcealed amusement.

"Up yours, Frenchie!"

Meanwhile, the Soldier had apparently decided that, since he had decreed that the Scout wasn't going to talk, any continued talking on the young man's part was obviously just a figment of everyone else's imagination. He'd lapsed into scowling silence again, and the Medic was beginning to suspect that he'd just have to resign himself to losing a staring match with a helmet.

Stifling a sigh, he risked breaking (ha) _eye_ contact to catch the Spy's gaze, and let some of his bafflement show on his face. _Vhy isn't he _saying_ anyzhing?!_

The Spy smirked and, with obvious reluctance, ceased taunting the Scout (who kept yelling insults at him, regardless) and sauntered over. Stopping just short of the Soldier's elbow, the masked man paused to take a drag from his cigarette, then lied, pleasantly, "Zis is our new Medic. He arrived during ze battle."

The Soldier's scowl didn't even twitch. Out of the corner of his mouth, so softly that the Medic almost didn't catch it under the racket the Scout was making, he muttered, "Where's the _BLU_..."

The Spy gestured vaguely with his cigarette. The motion _might_ have been indicating the base's Control Point (and its deceased BLU medically inclined occupant), with a significant amount of plausible deniability. "Dealt with."

It was like the Spy had flicked a switch. The Soldier seemed to inflate, and suddenly he was bellowing again, at a volume that made the Medic wince. "Took you long enough, maggot! We sent Command the requisition form _three months ago!_ Where the hell have you been?!"

_...Vhat._ The Medic could feel his mouth moving, but his brain was, rather unhelpfully, refusing to supply it any actual words, and in the end the only semi-coherent thing he managed to get out was, "I..."

"That's what I _thought_!" the Soldier bellowed. "I don't know how they do things where _you_ come from, maggot, but I do not tolerate _slacking_ on _my_ team." He scowled, pointedly, at the Scout.

"I WASN'T SLACKING! Holy _jeez!_"

Quite as if he hadn't heard the Scout, the Soldier turned back and jabbed the dumbfounded Medic in the chest. "Its _shape_ up or _ship _out, _got it?!"_

He caught sight of the Spy's amused expression over the top of the Soldier's head, and scowled. _If you knew zhat zhis vas going to happen and didn't tell me, zhen you and I and some very sharp implements are going to have _vords_. _Out loud, he growled, "_Ja_. I understand."

Fortunately, the Soldier was immune to subtext. Actually, he seemed to be immune to reality, but since this seemed to be more or less working in his favor, the Medic decided there was no point in arguing. At this point, he wasn't entirely certain the Soldier would have heard him, even if he'd tried, anyway.

He'd worked with Soldiers before. They made for decent partners, when they remembered you were there, and didn't rocket jump (a technique that was just as idiotic and reckless as it sounded, it was a miracle that more of them didn't blow their stupid feet off) to higher ground and leave you behind. As for attempting to gain an insight into how their minds work, he'd never seen the point, before: Off of the battlefield, they never paid him much attention unless they'd done something stupid and needed to be put back together. Now, however, he was wishing he had some way of deciphering what, exactly, was going through the Soldier's mind. The man _had_ to have recognized him---the similarities between members of the same class notwithstanding, after five days in a holding cell, the Medic was sure he was noticeably scruffier than most of his colleagues, BLU _or_ RED.

So, the Soldier had recognized him. Knew he was a BLU. Or, had been, anyway. Only now the Medic was in the RED uniform, was, for all intents and purposes, on the RED team. He would have expected a violent reaction to this revelation, but instead he'd received no response. Silence, until the Spy stepped in and...

Ah. Stepped in and offered an acceptable explanation, one that didn't involve a member of the BLU team suddenly becoming a member one of the REDs, which the Soldier had pounced on and accepted enthusiastically because the alternative was unthinkable. Impossible. And therefore could not possibly be true.

_Ha. I vish _my_ reality functioned like zhat._

"We got lucky out there today, men! We only won because those sissy _girls_ that the BLUs call a team made more mistakes than _we_ did!" The Soldier had started to pace, as if his captive audience was a line of soldiers, instead of a mismatched group of mercenaries that, now that he had started yelling again, had stopped watching him like he was a bomb about to go off and were starting to look bored. The Scout, who had taken the opportunity to retake his perch on the BLU Heavy's back, was the only one who seemed to be paying any attention. In fact, now that his horrible demise did not seem to be imminent, the Medic was paying more attention to the burns his new teammate was sporting, instead of the stirring speech the man was attempting to spout.

"This is a battlefield, and there is no room for mistakes! 'Making no mistakes is what establishes the certainty of victory'! Sun Tzu said that, and you can bet he knew what he was talking about!"

"'Cos he _invented_ it, and then he _perfected_ it, yeah, yeah, yeah," the Scout interrupted, mocking the Soldier's cadence, then adding, "We've heard that one already, y'don't hafta tell us again."

_Second degree, I zhink. It doesn't look zhat severe... zhe BLU Pyro must not have been able to get close. _Ignoring the twinge of guilt that accompanied this thought, the Medic swung his Medigun around to bear on the Soldier and turned it on.

The Soldier inserted an absentminded _Thanks, Doc_ between sentences without even missing a beat and then, still loudly ignoring the Scout, continued, "Mistakes cost _lives_, men! And if you're _lucky_, it'll just be your own! If you're not... I don't have to _tell_ you about the last sorry bunch of whiners RED stationed here, that tried to call themselves a _team!_ Your team is your army! You are nothing without your team! Without your team, you are just some idiot getting shot at!" Oblivious to the irony, the Soldier prodded the Heavy and added, "Unless you're Sun Tzu!"

The Heavy gave him a look that suggested if the Soldier poked him again, someone would be losing a hand. And it wouldn't be the Heavy. "Are you finished?"

"No!"

The Scout hunched his shoulders and muttered, "Crazy moron."

"Mhhf mph hmh mffd," said a voice _right_ behind him. Before the Medic could stop himself, he had spun around, backed into the Heavy, and had a minor heart attack. Then, as conscious thought caught up with paranoid reflexes, the Medic shot the RED Pyro a venomous glare._ I didn't hear him come up behind me... How long has he been standing zhere?!_

The Pyro flashed him a cheerful thumbs up.

"_Schweinehund,_"the Medic muttered, scowling. Behind him, the Soldier and Scout were starting to argue.

The Pyro snickered, and then moved up to get "ring side" seats, so to speak. Turning back around, as well, the Medic noticed that the Spy had vanished. _Vhy am I not surprised? _He made a mental note to hunt the masked man down again, before the end of the day, and take a closer look at his nose. The Medic had been just a _tad_ distracted, but from what he could see, it had looked broken. It would be better to get to it before it started to set. Just at the moment, however...

The Heavy tapped his shoulder, and he glanced up. Over the racket their teammates were making, the big man inquired, "So. You want Sandvich?"

The Medic was sure that he had never, ever uttered a more heartfelt and sincere _Yes_ before in his life.

---

The RED Sniper leaned back in his chair and savored his mug of decaf. Across the table, the Engineer popped the cap off of his bottle of beer and leaned back in his own chair. Instead of drinking, however, the Texan frowned absently at the bottle.

"Two more points t' capture. If th' BLUs don't win one back." Truckie snorted, and took a swig of beer. "Y'know what? I don't reckon I like this place much."

The Sniper nodded, though, as far as he was concerned, it was just another job. "Last place wasn't so bad. That pipeline mission... Got some nice long open spaces without a lot of cover." He grinned into his mug. "Beauty."

The Engineer chuckled, then took another swig from his bottle. "Wonder where they'll send us next."

He shrugged, "So long as its not here, eh, mate?"

"Or some place jus' like it," the Texan agreed.

Companionable silence stretched out between them, each enjoying their favored beverage and the fact that their rowdier team mates weren't around to shatter the peace and quiet. Finally, after a few minutes, the Engineer broke it himself, with a tired sigh.

"Glad... _real _glad you're still in one piece, pardner." Truckie frowned at his bottle and added, grumbling, "Just wish I didn't hafta thank that... _dang_ BLU for it."

The Sniper poked absentmindedly at one of the holes in the front of his shirt, and tried not to think too hard about the corresponding ones in the back. _Too close, mate. You're real lucky the Doc came along when 'e did._ "It was th' _'Eavy's_ idea, wouldja believe?"

"Huh?"

"T' get the Medic t' join up. At least, according to th' _Spy_."

"Sneaky bastard lies as easy as breathin'," Truckie pointed out, frowning.

The Sniper nodded, "Still."

The Engineer considered this, then shook his head. "The _Heavy's_ idea? _Really_?"

"Well, y'know what they say 'bout 'Eavies and Medics..."

He watched as the Texan's face slowly rearranged itself into an expression of horror, and then the Engineer put his hand over his eyes. "_Damn_ my overactive imagination. _Dammit, dammit, dammit..._"

The Sniper stifled a snicker, and held up his hands, innocently. "I'm just sayin' they _work_ well t'gether, mate."

"_Right_. Shame on me for insinuatin' anything else." The Engineer winced, and added, "Mental images're gonna haunt me for _days."_

They were still laughing when the Heavy and Medic showed up. Leaving Truckie to try and explain to the perplexed Heavy just what was so funny, the Sniper tipped his hat, politely, to the Medic, who was hovering in the doorway and eyeing the Engineer as if the Texan had just grown two heads.

It _had_ been awhile since he'd heard Truckie laugh that hard, the Sniper noted.

"Meet th' rest of the team yet, mate?"

"Ja," the Medic answered, quietly, his tone almost as neutrally polite as the Sniper's.

"And you're still in one piece?"

"Yes." This time the tone added, _Obviously. Idiot._

_I've been spendin' way too much time with our bloody spook, _the Sniper reflected. "Whatcha think of 'em?"

He watched the Medic struggle to think of something polite to say. Finally, something like a grimace flickered over the doctor's face, and he muttered, dryly, "Do I _have_ to answer zhat?"

The Engineer's laughter had long since faded. Now, he frowned up at the Medic. "Havin' second thou-"

"_No_." It wasn't a shout, but the volume was a few emphatic notches louder than the Medic had been using, in a tone that would accept no arguments.

Engineer and Medic glared at each other for a long, tense moment, then Truckie snorted softly and turned back to his beer. The Heavy, his expression a picture of concern, glanced from one sullen team mate to the other, and then, in the tone of someone attempting to change the subject with all the subtly of a sledgehammer, said, "I was going to be making Sandviches. Would-"

---

The Engineer and Sniper simultaneously remembered places they urgently needed to be. The Medic watched with some bewilderment as they practically scrambled to vacate the kitchen.

And when he turned to the Heavy, hoping the Russian might shed some light on his team mates' peculiar behavior, the big man was _smirking. _The Medic hadn't realized the Heavy could _do _that.

---

"The Builder's League United has lodged a formal complaint. They are trying to suggest that the actions of certain members of your team were not strictly within the Rules of Engagement."

"Oh?" The Spy didn't have to try to look unconcerned. If his team had actually been in trouble, the Announcer would have sounded furious or disdainful, instead of bored.

"You engaged two of their team members in territory that was not contested."

"_Our_ territory. Ze BLUs invaded our base," he pointed out, calmly, knowing full well that _she_ already knew that. "I was merely... clearing zem out."

"It would have been prudent to escort them back to contested territory before engaging them," the Announcer chided, with all the enthusiasm of a school teacher who was about to retire, content in the knowledge that none of this nonsense mattered anymore. That is to say, _without_ any enthusiasm.

"I do not believe zat zey would have listened to reason. Zey seemed to be trying to capture our point."

There was a pause. "The one in the base." It wasn't exactly a question. The Announcer's tone suggested that she thought the possibility too stupid for words, and was, at the same time, not even remotely surprised that someone was capable of it.

"Oui."

There was another pause. Then she snorted, derisively. "_Idiots_." Between one breath and the next, her tone went back to boredom. "The League is also objecting to the addition of an extra participant in the middle of the battle."

The Spy stifled a sigh. Why was she bothering him with this? He knew the rules, and he and the Medic had done nothing that wasn't still technically within their bounds. Certainly nothing Command could call them to task for, especially since they had won this round.

"They are suggesting we allowed an unaffiliated mercenary onto the battle field."

Err. Except for that. _Calm, calm. You can handle zis. _Technically, as soon as the Medic had put on the RED uniform... "He is a member of our team."

"Which is what we told the Builders' League," the Announcer replied, primly, to the Spy's private relief. "A one-man discrepancy in the number of members on either team is acceptable, as per Article Two, Section Seven of the Regulations of Private Warfare. They will, no doubt, adjust their team's numbers accordingly. We suspect they will also demand to see your new Medic's contract." He thought he caught a slight, almost sarcastic emphasis on the "your", though sarcasm coming from the Announcer was practically unheard of. "It is on the desk. See that he signs it immediately."

The Spy inclined his head, and hid a triumphant smirk. "Of course."

"Do you have any requests?"

_Of course not. _Though, it would be easier to simply ask for a new disguise kit. He wasn't looking forward to trying to clean his old one. Of course, he'd rather hang himself with his tie than allude to... that _event_... in front of the Announcer. "None."

"Good. You are dismissed."

---

It was later. The Medic's head had just hit the pillow---a clean pillow, on a real bed, with clean sheets, in a real room, _his_ room, without an enormous window in one wall that anyone could walk by and look through, with a door that locked on _his_ side, and it was quite possible he had died and gone to heaven---when someone knocked on his door, and he experienced a vague feeling of déjàvu. Except that _this_ time, he had a door that _he _could lock. No one could just barge in anymore.

He was feeling uncharacteristically gleeful about this fact. It had been a long week.

"Doctor?"

Of course, it did mean he had to actually go and answer the door. Which he could lock. On _his_ side. _Ha!_ It was almost better than one of the Heavy's sandwiches. Almost.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming."

It was the Spy. And, now that the Medic was able to get a closer look, the other man's nose was definitely crooked. _Hm. Now, how did zhat happen?_

"Command sends zeir regards," the Spy began, without preamble, and held up an official looking folder. "And zis... Are you listening? Why are you staring at me like- Where are you _going_?"

The exasperation in the other man's voice was positively heartwarming. "Just a moment," the Medic assured him, retrieving his Medigun from atop his new desk, where he'd left it. He slipped the pack on and turned back to the Spy. "Vell? Are you just going to stand zhere?"

Looking bemused, the Spy stepped just inside the door. "What are you doing? I'm not injur- _nghk._"The other man's bafflement abruptly vanished, and he managed to squash the reflexive yelp of pain, as he came within arm's reach of the Medic. The Medic who had reached up and, with the confident ease of someone who had done this several hundred times already, popped the Spy's nose back into place.

"Hold still," the Medic ordered him, rather belatedly.

Gloved fingers had snapped up to carefully inspect the offended feature. "Zat was unnecessary," the Spy informed him, stiffly, from behind his hand, through what sounded like gritted teeth.

He brought the Medigun around to bear and clicked it on, and managed, somehow, not to smirk. "If I only healed zhe people zhat _vanted_ me to, I vould have a great deal more spare time," the Medic replied, matter-of-factly, "Besides, you didn't vant it to heal crooked, did you?"

Pointedly ignoring this logic, the Spy let his hand drop back down and drew the tattered shreds of his dignity up around him. "If you are _quite finished_ mauling me?" He inquired, laying sarcasm over the words as thickly as he could without a backhoe, and then continued, without waiting to find out whether the Medic actually was finished or not, "I have your contract."

The Medic let the Medigun click off, and accepted the proffered folder, then went back to his desk.

The Spy didn't follow him. As the doctor started flipping through the papers, he added, "I expect it is similar enough to ze BLU's contract."

His companion made a noncommittal noise, then frowned, "Zhis is dated _yesterday_."

Which would explain why Command had wanted the contract signed as quickly as possible---so they could get it into their records and pretend it had been signed all along. "A secretarial oversight, I'm sure."

The Medic didn't look convinced. On the contrary, now he was looking suspicious. The Spy stifled a sigh. At present, he had neither the time nor the patience to tiptoe around his frie-... _the Medic_'s paranoia. He rolled his eyes, dramatically. "_Obviously_, you were hired yesterday. Command wouldn't be so irresponsible as to allow an _unaffiliated_ mercenary to participate in our little engagement zis morning."

"Ah." The Medic's suspicion evaporated. "Yes. _Obviously_," he added, dryly. "You didn't happen to bring a pen, did you?"

As he slipped one out of his pocket and offered it, the Spy wasn't quite sure what made him add, "Its tidier, zis way. Sometimes, zings happen at such _inconvenient _times, non? In such cases, it makes zings simpler if one can pretend zey happened at a more... opportune moment."

The pen froze in mid-stroke. Then, quietly, "When... _exactly_... did zhe BLUs..."

The Spy nonchalantly inspected the seam of one of his gloves. "Ze day after we... detained you."

A pause, and then the pen resumed its scribbling. After a few moments, the Medic slipped the papers back into their folder and handed it back to the Spy. "_Dankeshön._"

He was not, the Spy knew, thanking the masked man for bringing him the contract.

"_Bitte_," the Spy replied, smirking. He straightened, and turned to the door, adding, firmly, "_Wir sind quitt._"

---

The Medic stared at his half-finished signature and tried to remember how to breathe. A small, more collected part of himself elbowed his panic aside and started writing again, allowing the greater portion of his attention to focus on other things. Like keeping himself from hyperventilating. Or not gibbering in terror.

He'd been in the REDs' hands for six days, and the BLUs had fired him on the _second_. If he... if the Spy hadn't been on his side...

He'd be dead. But he wasn't. Because, for some crazy, inexplicable, bizarre reason the Spy---the twisty, double talking, sneaky, scheming, smirking _Spy, _for God's sake---was on his side. There was no second guessing it. (Alright, alright, there _was_, but just because "they" really _were_ all out to get you didn't mean you weren't _still_ being irrationally paranoid. Sometimes.)

Dotting the _i_, and then slipping the papers back into their folder, the Medic held it out to the man lounging against the doorframe. Hoping he could trust his voice, he said, quietly, "_Dankeshön._"

The Spy accepted the folder and smirked. "_Bitte_," he replied, casually, and straightened. The words he tossed over his shoulder, however, had lost the casual air. "_Wir sind quitt._" _We are even._

The Medic almost laughed, which would have certainly spoiled the Spy's dramatic exit. "_Gewiss,_" he managed, glad the Spy had his back to him, and couldn't see him smile. _Dummkopf. Wir sind Freunde_.

* * *

Extra A/N: Quick translation - _Gewiss _= "Naturally" or "Of course." _Wir sind Freunde_ = "We are friends." (As a disclaimer... while I'd love to learn, I don't actually speak German, so I'm relying on this English-German dictionary. If anyone who actually _does_ speak German spots an error, please feel free to correct me.)

....And I don't know if it was clear. The Engineer and the Sniper skidaddled, because usually the Heavy sings while he makes his victory Sandvich. Um. Remember? :)


	23. Fight! Fight! Fight!

A/N: In which we jump forward a couple of days, there are a plethora of Scouts, and the BLU Engineer would really, really like to ragequit.

(Also, I take a few liberties... well, a few -more- liberties with the Hydro map. Technically, while the tunnels mentioned do actually exist, the "lower path" isn't actually open when these particular areas are being contested. These teams are... um. Playing on the "Developer Commentary" version of the map where everything is open. Yes.)

* * *

The RED Scout left his teammates eating dust right out of the gate. It wasn't that late in the day, but the sun was already blazing in the sky and he could feel the heat seeping up through the soles of his shoes---on the rare occasions that they were actually touching the ground.

He grinned as he ran. Today was going to be a _perfect_ day.

There were two paths from here to the BLU's power plant: An upper not-quite-tunnel and, according to the Doc, a lower path that came back up through the drain pipes. He went up. Caught sight of a BLU blur coming at him from the opposite end of the tunnel. His grin got wider. The BLUs had got another Scout.

This, he realized a few seconds later, was not the case. The BLUs didn't have another Scout. They had _four_.

It was like Christmas!

The BLU Scouts split up, surging forward to try and surround him. Hardly missing a beat, he reversed directions and sprinted back the way he'd come, the other Scouts hot on his heels. "Yo, Sasha!" he crowed, "I've got some guys you've gotta meet!"

Up ahead, a minigun started to spin. The Scout vaulted over the Heavy just as the big man came up the stairs, and nearly landed on the Doc. The first BLU Scout made the jump, too. From the screams that cut over Sasha's fire, the other Scouts hadn't been so lucky. But, from the swearing, it sounded like at least one of them had got away.

The surviving BLU Scout whirled, firing wildly with his scattergun, aiming for the Doc. As the Medic scrambled to get out of the way, the RED Scout jumped him, trying to bash his stupid head in with the butt of his own scattergun, and for a few seconds, they were a tangle of kicking, biting, punching, swearing, unrestrained _fury_.

Then they fell off the platform. The RED Scout hit the ground and rolled away from his opponent. The BLU Scout scrambled to his feet, already halfway into a sprint before he was completely vertical. The pansy was running away! The RED Scout swore and scrambled after him.

The other Scout was headed for the lower tunnel back to BLU territory, and he had a friggin' head start. The RED Scout fired a few shots after him, but the wuss was almost as good at dodging _he_ was, and besides, the path was too twisty for a clear shot.

The BLU Scout reached the tunnel first, and disappeared down it. The RED Scout plunged in after him, shouting obscenities. Up ahead, the short tunnel came to an abrupt end, opening up into the larger canyon-y network of tunnels that connected the different points to each other. A path wound down from the end of the tunnel, curling along the wall to the left, all the way down to the ground, but straight ahead opened into empty air.

The BLU Scout was had just reached the end of the short passage when he tripped over something long and thin and invisible, that was outlined in flickering red for a second when he hit it. The runner flipped head over heels, and his momentum sent him tumbling out of the tunnel. Scrabbling for a hand hold as he went flying over the edge of the path, the BLU Scout disappeared. A second later there was a _thud_. A second after that, an infuriated voice yelled, "Friggin' _OW!_"

The RED Scout heard the Spy snicker as he pelted past. And then invisible hands grabbed him and hauled him backwards, away from the tunnel entrance. Just as the path outside exploded, sending up clouds of dust.

"Sticky bombs," the Spy hissed into his ear, "_Imbecile_."

"Yeah, yeah, thanks," the Scout shot back, elbowing himself free. He had to get out there before the BLU Demoman set some more. He barreled out of the tunnel at full speed and took the route down that the BLU Scout had already unwillingly taken. Technically, this might not have been the best idea, but lucky for him, it turned out to be the right choice.

---

On her way up the path, the BLU Pyro spat some flame at the passing RED Scout, but he was well out of range. The BLU Scout was already up and running again when his RED counterpart landed, so the Pyro shrugged and, certain the Demoman would follow her, continued up. There was no possible way they'd catch up with those two.

---

Inside the tunnel, the RED Spy caught sight of the approaching Pyro and flattened himself against one wall. If he was lucky, the mumbling, fire breathing _freak_ would simply pass by without seeing him. A few seconds later, when the Spy realized the Pyro was Spy Checking---almost absentmindedly sending little puffs of flames shooting out of his flamethrower after every few steps---the RED knew he was _not_ going to be, even remotely, lucky.

---

"I require assistance!"

When an invisible figure, outlined in flames, darted out of the tunnel and ran up the path, the BLU Pyro hot on its heels, the Sniper was already ready to line up the shot. It was pathetically easy to find the Pyro's head through his scope.

_Factor in th' wind, keep your breath steady..._ He started to squeeze the trigger, then hesitated. For a moment, the Sniper tried to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind that had asked, pointedly, _You really going t' tell 'im you killed _two_ of 'is mates? _

Then, with making a disgusted noise at himself, the assassin readjusted his aim.

There was a surprised "Mmph!" that followed his rifle shot, and the BLU Pyro face planted, one of his legs giving out beneath him. As the partly-invisible, flaming Spy disappeared into the upper tunnel, and before the Sniper could pat himself on the back for solving the problem rather neatly, the Pyromaniac grabbed something off of his belt, rolled onto his side and shot something big and blue that went _paff! _at the assassin. Frowning in bemusement, the Australian almost forgot to duck. As it was, it winged him.

And then suddenly he was on fire.

"Fire!" He yelped, like a bleedin' idiot, swatting at the flames on his vest, and then added, "Fire! Gah... _Fire!_" Because it had been ever so helpful the first time.

"Mmph!" said another Pyro, somewhere closer, and he heard footsteps on the metal stairs nearby. And _then_ a blast of hot air knocked him over.

---

The RED Pyro nudged the prone Sniper with his foot. "_You all right?_"

"Ghnnn," The Australian grunted, about as coherently as the Pyro himself, and gingerly started to pick himself up.

Once the Sniper had stood, determined he was no longer on fire, and dusted himself off, he touched the brim of his hat, politely, to the Pyro. "Thanks, mate."

Behind his mask, the Pyro grinned. He flashed the Sniper a thumb's up, and then headed back over to the Engineer's Sentry nest.

---

They hit the stairs leading up into the BLU's territory and a second BLU Scout tried to jump him. Literally. Friggin' moron tried to jump on his friggin' head, from the top of the stairs. As he side-stepped the falling BLU, the RED Scout caught a brief glimpse of the Scout he'd been chasing reverse directions to come barreling back down the stairs and flank him. He didn't spend a lot of time worrying about it, however, because now he had somebody within ass-kicking range.

Both Scouts, RED and BLU, grabbed their bats. Guns were awesome, but good luck hitting somebody as fast as _him_ with one, when they were right up in your face. They got in a few swings at each other before the other BLU dove into the fight.

Being outnumbered wasn't all that bad, in the RED's opinion. In fact, it was almost an advantage. _He_ didn't have to worry about who he was aiming for, and that was a definite plus. One of the BLU Scouts seemed kinda used to fighting with a buddy, but the other one didn't know what the hell he was doing, and kept getting in the way. The RED Scout was quick to help him with this, making sure he dodged so that the dumb one kept getting between him and the smart one.

But then the dumb, stupid, idiot _wuss_ got in a total bullshit lucky shot, just barely clipping the RED Scout's chin with the end of his bat. His felt his jaw snap shut, painfully, and suddenly the whole world went sideways. The RED Scout lashed out with his bat in the direction he was pretty sure the BLUs were coming at him from, and overbalanced when it whiffed harmlessly through the air.

The BLU Scouts jeered as they closed in for the kill.

Which was a dumb move, if you asked him. 'Cos now he wasn't just guessing where they were, despite the fact the ground kept see-sawing under him and it looked like there were four of 'em again.

Trying to pay attention to what his ears were telling him, instead of his eyes, the RED Scout swung again, and this time he heard one of the BLU Scouts curse and frantically dodge out of the way. Then heard the _other _BLU Scout curse as the first one's maneuver had dodged him _in_ to the second Scout. The second one shoved the first, and the first rounded on him, snarling. "Watch it!" they both snapped at each other.

Seizing the couple seconds their bickering bought him, the RED Scout zipped past them and up the stairs. Though, maybe "zipped" was giving him too much credit, but it wasn't _his_ fault the dumb stairs wouldn't stay still. But he made it all the way up them and out into the wide open warehouse/power plant/thing before the other Scouts had even started after him.

He was on the ground floor, with some big generator-things. Above him, he knew, there were walkways and crap, and the Control Point was on one of them. Probably so were more BLUs and, if he was lucky, some of the REDs. As if to confirm his thoughts, something exploded almost directly above him. Then the ground came up and hit him in the face.

There was a menacing _Beep_ from the walkway above him. He turned his head and looked up... into the twin muzzles of the high caliber, tripod mounted, rocket launching death machine that had just swiveled to lock on him. It just barely had an angle, though, if he could just scramble back, like, a _foot_...

Frantically, the Scout tried to push himself backwards, but knew, with sharp clarity, that for once in his life he was just not going to be fast enough.

Everything went dark. It took less than a second for the Scout to realize that this was because the Soldier was suddenly looming over him, and not because the Sentry had shot him to death. The lunatic had dropped out of friggin' nowhere, to land between him and the big gun

The Sentry fired. Capt'n _frickin'_ America staggered a little, with a grunt of pain, then grabbed the Scout by the back of his shirt, and dragged him out of the Sentry's sights.

It took another second or two for this to sink in. _Oh, God, I'm alive. _Shock and relief made him dizzier than the blow to the head had._ Oh holy friggin' crap, I don't believe this. _

The Soldier started hauling him upright, bellowing, "On your feet, soldier! You're not done yet!"

Opening his mouth to retort, the Scout saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Across the room, the BLU Sniper had dropped down from an upper walkway, and was aiming at them. No, not at _them_---just at the Soldier. _Shit!_ "Look out!"

The stupid, crazy moron didn't even try to duck. He just yelled, "MAGGOT!" and fired a rocket in the direction the Scout was frantically pointing. When the Sniper's arrow hit him square in the chest, the Captain actually _laughed._ "HA! IS THAT THE BEST YOU BLU LADIES CAN DO?!" Grinning maniacally, the Soldier swung his rocket launcher around to point at the BLU.

Distantly, the Scout heard the BLU Sniper snarl's of frustration turn into a curse, and the lanky BLU flung himself behind one of the generators as the Soldier shot another rocket at him.

Up above them, the Sentry started going wild. After a moment, Sasha joined in, and, his big booming voice loud and clear over the deafening noise of the two guns, the Heavy started to laugh.

---

The BLU Engineer had figured, when those RED bastards had rushed him, that that was that. He was pretty sure there was nothing he hated more than an Übercharge. Hell, at least you could _shoot_ Spies. So, it just figured that it be an Übercharge that finally did him in.

His Sentry had exploded in his face. Maybe he could have tried harder to keep it together but, well, what was the point, really? The REDs would get it down one way or another. It was almost a relief, in the end. He knew he wasn't getting out of this one.

The Texan backed himself into a corner, his back to his poor Dispenser. At least he wouldn't have to watch _this_ one go down. Poor baby was still dutifully pumping health into him. Not that it would matter. Even if the Übercharge wore off in time, the RED's minigun would still shred him before he even made a dent in the bastard.

Nothing he ever did had ever _goddamn_ mattered.

The Engineer was sunk so deep in despair that it took him a few seconds to realize the RED Heavy had stopped firing. The Russian's gun was still spinning, but the big dumb thug wasn't killing him. Just strolling along the walkway towards the Texan like he was out for a Sunday morning walk.

The Übercharge faded, and the Heavy stopped a few feet away. His Medic didn't hardly seem to be paying attention: the doctor was keeping a close eye on the far side of the room, where the damn BLU Sniper was _supposed_ to be. Since neither of the REDs were suddenly sprouting arrows, however, the Texan would bet his life savings that the Australian was nowhere to be seen.

"I think," the big man said, simply, "You should be running now. Yes?"

The Engineer stared at him. _He's gonna shoot me in th' back._ It'd be just like a RED, too. Well, he wouldn't give the bastard that pleasure. The RED was gonna hafta look the Texan in the eye if he was gonna kill him.

The Medic was apparently paying more attention to the situation than the Engineer had given him credit for, because he seemed to notice the BLU's expression, and snapped, "Ve aren't going to vaste bullets on _you_. Move! _Schnell!_"

The BLU Engineer's determination slipped. Damn it all, he _was_ useless. His enemies didn't think he was worth _killing_. For a moment more, he tried to cling to his last shreds of stubborn refusal---If they were going to destroy his Dispenser, they'd have to go through him whether they wanted to or not, dagnabbit!---then a little voice, that sounded a lot like his own, growled at him, _Your Dispenser or your life, boy. You can't very well rebuild yourself, now can ya? _

So he ran. Like the yellow bellied, worthless coward that he was.

---

When the itty bitty BLU had disappeared, the Heavy started down the stairs to the Control Point, confidant that the Doctor was following him. Which was why he was unpleasantly surprised to find, when he glanced back, that the Medic wasn't. The little doctor was standing at the top of the steps, staring at him and wearing an expression the Heavy couldn't read.

"What?" he asked, suddenly worried.

The Doctor just shook his head and hurried to catch up. But the Heavy didn't continue down the stairs. Instead, he frowned down at the Medic and repeated, firmly, "_What_?"

The Medic looked startled. Then he sighed. "Vhy didn't you... ah..."

"Kill the little _baby_ man?" The Heavy was surprised the little doctor had to ask. It had seemed fairly simple, to him. It was obvious that the Doctor was still worried about his old team. Which was fine, it meant the Doctor was a _good_ Medic, and would certainly worry about his new team, too.

Of course, it also meant that the Doctor didn't want to see _these_ BLUs die. Which could be a bit of a problem, what with the war going on.

Still. The Doctor was his friend. So long as the BLUs didn't _insist_ that Sasha kill them, the Heavy had decided he could let them live. This time, anyway.

Simple.

He clapped the little doctor on the back and grinned. "Was no trouble."

The Medic gave him a bemused look and shook his head. Before he could reply, however, there was a yell of "Doc!" from below them, and suddenly the Doctor was scowling down over the railing at their injured teammates. The Heavy followed his gaze. The Soldier was leaning heavily on the Scout (or, possibly, the Scout was leaning heavily on the Soldier. It was a little hard to be sure). Still firing their respective weapons at BLUs the Heavy couldn't currently see, they seemed to be arguing.

"You frickin' missed 'im!"

"Silence in the ranks, private!"

"How th' hell d'you _see_ anyway!?"

"No backtalk!"

"_Dummkopfs_," the Medic growled. Then, to the Heavy, he added, "I vill meet you on zhe point." Grabbing his syringe gun and vaulting the railing, he dropped down to ground level before the Heavy could protest.

Though he watched the the Medic's progress from his higher vantage point with some concern, the Heavy couldn't help feeling extremely smug as he headed for the Control Point. Because he'd spotted the relief that had flashed over the Doctor's face for just a second when the Medic had realized their teammates were still alive. The Heavy had picked a _good_ Medic.

Humming to himself and ignoring the Announcer's voice, as she pointed out to the world that he was capturing the Control Point, the Heavy wondered if this was how the Spy felt all the time.

---

The Texan was not surprised to find that no one else had made it back to BLU base by the time he'd arrived. He didn't much like it at the best of times, but it was downright depressing when it was empty. Partly just to keep his mind off things, the BLU Engineer made his way to the Resupply Closet and started setting up a Dispenser for whichever of his teammates managed to make it back alive.

The first one back was the one he least wanted to see. He'd just about put the finishing touches on his Dispenser when the dutiful little machine extended a healing tendril to the lanky man who'd come up to behind the Texan and was attempting to loom over him.

The Sniper ignored it. "What 'appened out there, mate?" It could have been a polite, almost concerned question. If the lanky assassin hadn't ground it out through gritted teeth. "I turn my back for a _minute_ and th' _bloody_ REDs are on th' bleedin' Point."

The Engineer silently counted to ten before replying. "They took out my Sentry. Nothin' I could do."

"So y'just let 'em _waltz_ up-"

"_You_ were there, y'know," He growled, without looking up. Catching himself, the Engineer took a deep breath, and then continued, calmly, "If you'd've taken out their damn _Medic_, like y'said y'could, I mighta been able t' get another Sentry up, but I'm not dumb enough t' go toe t' toe with a _Heavy _whose got a Medic watchin' his back."

The Sniper snarled, "Am I expected t' do _everything_ on this bloody team, then?"

The Engineer stood and pointedly dusted his hands off. Pushing up the brim of his hard hat, he fixed the taller man with his best _I am not impressed with you, Mister_ expression. "Am _I_?"

A muffled voice muttered something inarticulate and angry and both BLUs turned in time to see their missing teammates troop in. The Engineer about had a heart attack. The Pyro was limping, slung between one of their new Scouts and the Demoman. The other Scout immediately darted over to the Dispenser and practically hugged the machine. "Hey, thanks for that, Hard Hat."

The Engineer muttered something in response, but he could hardly even hear himself over his inner berating. He was such a damn, worthless fool. He _knew _he should have insisted she stick with him on defense. Sure, at the time, he'd been more worried about having her anywhere near their Sniper, out on the battlefield, but... if he'd been even half as smart as he _ought_ to be, he would've figured out a way to keep her safe. Not that he didn't think she could handle herself: He was from _Texas._ He knew darn well that there were some ladies who were tougher'n nails, and could hold their own in a proper scuffle. There was just no sense in saying that a fight was no place for a girl.

It was just, if a lady was _gonna_ fight, at the very least she oughta do it somewhere where he could keep an eye on her, and make sure she didn't get _hurt_.

---

The BLU Pyro, still half-hanging between her two teammates, tried not to fidget nervously. Normally she didn't _get_ nervous, but her Engineer was looking at her funny again. He'd been acting really weird since the last battle. At first, she was sure she'd pissed him off, somehow, because he wouldn't talk to her and kept finding reasons to leave a room whenever she came into it. Except, the more she thought about it, it wasn't really that he was acting mad. More like... really, extremely polite. He'd started holding doors open for her, for instance. And getting her chair for her at dinner. The weirdest part was that she wasn't entirely sure he even noticed he was doing it.

The look the Sniper was giving her was easier to read, at least. She didn't even have to wonder if she'd made _him_ mad. Her teammates helped her over to a bench next to the Engineer's machine. She sat and glared at the Sniper over it. He glared back.

"This everybody?" the Engineer asked, quietly.

The Scouts shrugged.

"Dunno 'bout th' Spy," the Demoman replied, sprawling himself down next to the Dispenser and taking a swig from his bottle. "Th' RED Engineer whacked 'im a good un, and Aie dinnae see 'im after that but..." He shrugged.

"Creepy bastard doesn't _die_," agreed the Scout that was cuddled up to the Dispenser.

The Engineer frowned and shook his head. "Better go look for him."

"_Me_?" The runner clung a little more pointedly to the machine pumping health into him.

"_I'll_ do it," the other Scout retorted. "Dumbass."

"Suck up."

"Slacker."

"Wuss."

"_Moron_."

"Right, that's it." With an irritated snarl, the Sniper pushed past the young men and stalked out, muttering, "Least there's only _two_ of 'em now. Twitchy little hooligans..."

"Asshole," the Scouts grumbled, simultaneously, and then glared at each other.

The Pyro had to agree.

---

The RED Spy was feeling rather smug as he sauntered back to his room, later that evening. Everything was still proceeding smoothly. The Medic seemed to be fitting in well: while there was still some tension between the doctor and their Engineer, the Medic had apparently felt confident enough to berate the Soldier for jumping in front of a Sentry gun. Not very much, however---the Spy could tell the doctor was actually more relieved (and amazed) that both the Soldier and the Scout were alive, than genuinely furious.

And, best of all, the Spy had successfully managed to avoid the Sniper for the entirety of the afternoon and evening. He was not going to let the Australian gloat at him and ruin his good mood. Or, worse, attempt to discover what had rattled him.

Not that he'd been rattled. Because he hadn't been. Not even a little.

_Feh. Idiotic, uneducated, unwashed Australian peasant. Doesn't know what he's talking about.  
_

The Spy reached his room and paused, hand on the knob. With his free hand, he absently drew his revolver, and then turned the knob. As he had suspected, it was unlocked. Which was interesting. He always locked his door.

He slipped inside.

The BLU Spy was leaning against his desk, idly smoking one of his inferior cigarettes. The RED Spy carefully closed the door behind him, and locked it, without looking back.

The other Spy didn't seem perturbed. Instead, he inspected his cigarette, thoughtfully. "I have a proposition for you."

The RED Spy arched a brow. "Oh?"

The BLU explained. By the time he'd finished, his RED counterpart was grinning.

It was not a nice grin.


	24. Colorblind

A/N: Update! ...I'm totally not going to get this done by the end of December.

You guys, however, rock. :) I cannot thank you enough for the reviews, they always make me smile. ^^

* * *

It had been four days since he'd officially joined the RED team and the Medic still felt as though he was walking on eggshells. It was ridiculous, he knew. The REDs had given him no reason to believe they were going to turn on him. In fact, it was a little unnerving, the way they'd so readily accepted him. It was as if there had been an empty, Medic-shaped space, just waiting for him to fill.

Which was probably accurate enough. It wasn't as if they'd had a Medic before he showed up, anyway.

Nevertheless. It was unsettling. He kept expecting... well... _something_ to happen. Anything. It wouldn't have surprised him if the roof cracked open, and the Powers That Be descended from above, in a cloud of smoke and lighting, and decreed "You Can Not Do This." Or that he'd wake up and discover the last few weeks had been a dream. Or that someone would finally _object_. Just a _little_. The fact that none of these things happened and, as the days went by, continued not happening did _not_ help.

He was, in a word, _tense_.

The Medic pried open the lid on a bottle of pills, and peered inside. He tapped a couple into his hand and inspected them, critically. After a moment's thought, he slipped them back into the bottle, screwed the lid back on and dropped the bottle into the _Identifiable_ pile.

At least RED base had a proper medical bay. Admittedly, it was small, and dusty, and its existence had come as a great surprise to the rest of the team, but getting it in order gave him something to do besides follow the Heavy around all day. Not that he minded the big man's company. It was just nice to have an hour or two to himself, without being surrounded by people in RED uniforms. He knew he'd get used to them eventually, but "eventually" was taking its sweet time. The _schweinehund_.

He reached for a large brown glass jar filled with as-of-yet unidentified pills and frowned at the faded, unintelligible label. _Whoever organized zhese in zhe first place was-_

There was a soft _wshhh_ behind him as the Spy decloaked, stepping up to peer over the Medic's shoulder. "What are-" he began.

And was abruptly cut off as the Medic's reflexes (which had spun the doctor around the instant he'd heard that particular, distinctive, _dangerous_ noise) shrieked _RED SPY_ and lashed out.

A few moments later, rational thought finally caught up, and he found himself pinned, face down, on the floor. Apparently noticing that he'd stopped struggling, the Spy loosened his grip, slightly. "Doctor?"

_Gottverdammt. _He sounded _amused_.

The Medic sucked in an irritated breath through his teeth and then ground out, _"_Don't. _Do_. Zhat."

"My apologies," the Spy replied, unapologetically, and shifted his weight on the doctor's back. "If I let you up, will you try to hit me again?"

"Nein," he snapped. "Get off."

By the time the Spy had helped him to his feet and he'd had a chance to un-ruffle himself, the Medic's irritation had evaporated, leaving profound embarrassment behind. He wasn't sure what had come over him. He shouldn't have done that. And not in the sense that it was unwise: He really _shouldn't_ have done that. This was _not_ the first time that a Spy on his own team had snuck up on him, and always before now he'd been able to refrain from attempting to bash their smug, smirking, backstabbing faces in.

"I'm sorry," he grumbled, self-consciously, but feeling as though the apology was necessary. "You startled me."

"_De rien_," the Spy shrugged. Leaning nonchalantly against the counter, he picked up one of the scattered pill bottles and inspected it, curiously. "I've uncloaked around you before," he pointed out, absently, as he turned it over.

"Not," the Medic corrected him, tersely, "_behind_ me."

"Ah." The Spy nodded, and then waved at the rest of the bottles. "What's all zis?"

The Medic plucked the bottle out of the Spy's hands and inspected it for himself. "Medical supplies. Everyzhing is unlabelled, most of it is out of date. I've been trying to sort zhrough it all." After a moment's consideration, he dropped the bottle into the _Expired_ pile.

"Doesn't ze Medigun fix everyzing anyway?"

"Yes, vell," the Medic grumbled, reaching for another and glaring at the blank label. "Zhat is _true. _But it doesn't hurt to be prepared." Besides. There wasn't anything in his contract that said he wasn't allowed to have just a little_, _tiny bit of fun.

"For what?" The Spy arched a brow at the impressive collection. "An epidemic?"

The Medic snorted. "Don't ask me, _I_ didn't order all of zhese. But since zhey're _here_..."

"Anyzing interesting so far?"

The question was entirely too innocent. The Medic frowned at him, suspiciously. There was something about the idea of a Spy interested in pharmaceuticals that didn't bode well. He made a mental note to keep a close eye on the number of bottles. "Define interesting."

The Spy smirked. "What have you found?"

Before the Medic could decide if he _should_ answer, the Scout stuck his head through the doorway and yelled, "Yo, Doc!"

The _Over here! Heeeeal me_ feeling pinged, and the Medic stifled a sigh.

The Scout, glowering at the Spy, didn't notice. "You guys comin' ta breakfast or what? _Some_ people got up frickin' _early_ for this."

---

The Spy settled into his usual seat at the table and turned his attention to the plate in front of him for a minute or two, to give him an adequate cover under which to take stock of his team.

For the most part, they seemed to be their typical selves. The Scout was grumbling something intelligible into the table, the Sniper was savoring his cup of coffee... even the Soldier seemed to have adjusted to the presence of their newest team member without batting an eye. (In fact, the Spy suspected the Soldier was starting to like the doctor. Ever since the Medic had snarled at him for the Sentry gun incident, the Soldier had been going out of his way to try and provoke the doctor into an argument, and the madman typically only did _that_ with the Scout.)

Everything seemed completely normal. At least, if you didn't know how to spot the warning signs.

The Engineer, for example. The Texan was reading his morning paper, as per usual, but the Spy could see he was gripping it just _slightly_ too hard. There was a ghost of a frown hovering over the laborer's features, as well, that the Spy doubted had anything to do with the news. He, at least, was not taking the addition of the Medic to the team very well.

Regrettably, there didn't seem to be a great deal he could do to smooth things over, at least at present. He would have to keep a close eye on the situation, looking for an opportunity and to ensure that it wasn't interfering with the Engineer's ability to adequately perform his job.

Unfortunately, the Engineer was not his biggest problem.

Literally. Unlike the Texan, the difference in the Heavy was less subtle. Though he was still shoveling food into his mouth as he usually did, it was not at the exclusion of everything else in the room. Instead, he was keeping one rather obvious eye on the Medic. The rest of the big man's attention was on his comrades, watching them with an expression that usually meant he suspected someone was planning on touching his gun. And Sasha was not in the room.

If they'd been on the battlefield, the Spy would have seen this as a good sign. The Heavy was, quite obviously, poised to break anything (or anyone) that threatened the Medic. And that was as it should be... at least, if they hadn't been sitting at the _breakfast table, _in the middle of their own base, surrounded by their fellow REDs.

On his own, the Spy was sure, the Heavy would never perceive that there was any threat here (except, possibly, of someone trying to steal his food, which was only likely if that someone didn't mind broken fingers). Which meant he was reacting to the Medic's tension.

And the Medic was _tense_.

There weren't enough chairs for the whole team. In the past, this had meant that the Pyro, who typically ate in his room anyway, stood for these little meetings. Now, the Medic had joined him, leaning against one of the counters. When the Sniper had, surprisingly enough, offered to give up his seat, the Medic had firmly declined. To the Spy's sharp eye, the thought of sitting at the table had unnerved him. He'd hidden it well, but, for a brief instant, the Medic had looked positively ill.

_Now, why would zat be?_

Perhaps it wasn't unrelated to that intriguing little incident, earlier this morning. The Spy had got a good look at the Medic's expression and, contrary to what his friend had said, the sound of the Spy decloaking behind him wasn't what provoked such a violent reaction. No, the Medic had _recognized_ him, and _then_ panicked.

Which was odd. The Sniper's ridiculous theories aside, the Spy had assumed that he and the doctor were on slightly better terms than that. If he didn't know any better---and if such feelings weren't so utterly beneath his dignity as to be totally insignificant and not even remotely worth his time---he might have been a little hurt.

He did, of course, know better. This wasn't _personal_. After the initial panic, and even though he'd come to his senses with the Spy pinning him, the Medic had been his old exasperated, suspicious self again. He'd even _apologized_, which the Spy suspected was something of a rare occurrence.

So. If not the Spy, himself, what had the Medic seen---no, _recognized_---that had set him off?

Puzzling it over, the Spy absently inspected the bit of sausage he'd speared on the end of his fork, appearing to give it far more attention than he ever actually _would_. There were, after all, some things that just didn't bear contemplating.

Like jars. Of... certain liquids.

And uncouth heathen _criminals_ that were going to _get what was coming to them_...

The Spy caught himself gripping his fork rather too tightly and relaxed before anyone---particularly the _Sniper_---could notice. He was getting side tracked, and there were far more important things that required his attention, besides the inevitable gruesome fate of a certain unwashed, mangy, barbarous, vile, disgusting, _uneducated_-

_Ahem_.

Much. Much more important things. Unfortunately, before he could resume his contemplation of them, the Engineer snapped his paper shut, irritably. "Well?" he demanded, glaring down the table at the Spy. "We just gonna sit here all day, or d'you actually have something you feel like sharing?"

The Spy continued picking at his food, calmly. "As you may know, zis will be our last engagement here. All _we_ have to do is capture ze point in zeir base: zey cannot attack any of _our_ Control Points."

The Engineer frowned, thoughtfully. "What happens if we don't capture it?"

"We _will _capture that Point!" the Soldier barked, before the Spy could answer. "Or _die trying_, soldier!"

"If we do not capture zeir point within ze allotted time," the Spy explained, ignoring the interruption, "zen we start over."

"That... doesn't sound too bad."

"Non. _Start over. _RED will have two territories to defend, and BLU will have two-"

The Engineer choked. "Y'mean, start the whole damn _war_ over?"

"Oui."

"That's _nuts_."

The Spy shrugged. "So, we don't lose." When the Engineer still didn't look convinced, he added, "I do not foresee zere being any difficulties. The BLUs have yet to mount an adequate defense, and I imagine zat will not change."

"They've got two new blokes comin' in," the Sniper pointed out, over his mug. "Might get more Engineers."

"Not t' mention, there's not a whole heckuva lot I can do if we don't have anything t' _defend_," the Engineer grumbled.

The Medic started to say something, and then, apparently thinking better of it, snapped his mouth shut. Unfortunately for him, the Texan noticed. "_What_?" he growled.

The Medic stiffened.

The Heavy was suddenly scowling menacingly at the Engineer.

And the Spy could have smacked himself for being so utterly oblivious. How could he have missed this? It was so _simple_, he hadn't even considered it. The reason the Medic had reacted badly to his sudden appearance this morning, the _reason_ the Heavy was acting as though they were still on the battlefield...

As far as the Medic was concerned, they still _were_.

---

He was an idiot. What was _wrong_ with him? He'd been fine for _four days, gottverdammnt_, what was the problem now?! As if the morning's debacle with the Spy hadn't been enough! The thought of sitting down at the table had made his skin crawl. While standing with his back to the counter felt... _safer_---even with the Pyro taking time out from fiddling with the stove to _stare_ at him---the Medic still had had to periodically remind himself to breathe, to stay calm, that everything was _fine_.

_And zhen I had to go und open my big mouth._

The Medic couldn't see the Heavy's expression, but whatever it was, it had startled the Engineer. Before the Medic could figure out what, if anything, he could say to diffuse the situation, the Texan's expression shut down. "Sorry, Doc," he said, somewhat more calmly. "You had somethin' to say?"

"Ah..." Oh,_ Scheiße, _they were all looking at him now. He frantically tried to remember what he'd been about to say, and _why_ he'd thought it was such a good idea to say it in the first place. "I... uh..." _Dummkopf. Get a hold of yourself. _"Zhere vill... probably be a few places to set up a Sentry zhat vould keep zhem from pushing us back, und... give us somevhere safe to fall back to, if need be." He'd learned_ that_ from some of the BLU Engineers, on payload missions. Since the BLUs were typically attacking, the Engineers had had to get creative.

Of course, since they were typically attacking the _REDs_, the Medic thought better of mentioning it. And, just to be on the safe side, he added, "But I'm sure you already know zhat."

_Nice save_.

The Sniper took a swig of coffee to hide his smirk. The Medic was holding up pretty well, he thought. The doctor had been with the REDs for a few days, now. _Wonder 'ow long 'e was with the BLUs. _Couldn't be easy for someone as jumpy and paranoid as the Doc to switch gears so quickly. To get used to the fact that _red_ was safe, now, and _blue_ was going to try and kill him. It was a bloody miracle that the Medic had kept his cool this long, really.

The Sniper was a little surprised it had taken their bloody wuss this long to figure it out, though. Considering the Spy and the rest of his sneaky, shape changing doppelgangers were one of the main reasons the Medic was so damn paranoid. As the other main reason, the Sniper had figured it out right off the bat. Then again, the scheming sneak had been off his game, lately. The Sniper wished he knew what had ruffled the spook so badly (especially since the Spy obviously believed the Sniper already knew).

_Ah well. _The Sniper took another thoughtful sip of coffee. Either he'd find out eventually, or he wouldn't.

Meanwhile, Truckie was giving the Doc his _What're you up to_ look. But all he said was, "Might work."

The Doc nodded a little and then went back to trying to pretend he wasn't there.

"But, I'm sure you already know zhat."

If it had come from the Spy, the Engineer would have expected that last bit to be patronizing. But it wasn't. It sounded more like _I'm trying not to make you angry._

It irritated him that people seemed to think they had to try not to irritate him. He did _not_ have a short temper, dagnabbit! And he didn't need people pussyfooting around him, like he was some kind of loose cannon!

All because of that damn _sink_.

The Engineer wasn't proud of that. Even he had to admit it been pretty irrational of him. And, hell, it wasn't like the dang blasted thing was _important_. He hadn't _cared_ about the sink. All he'd really cared was that there was another BLU busting up his hard work. _Again_. Only, _this_ time, he could get his hands on the bastard.

The bastard who then turned around and _helped_ him.

Who, when he wasn't ignoring the Texan, was treating him like he thought the Engineer might explode again.

Like _now_.

It just wasn't right. They shouldn't be _trusting_ this... this _turncoat_. Not that the Engineer didn't appreciate what the Doc had done for him, but somebody who abandoned his team was likely to do it again. (Except, hadn't the BLUs abandoned the Medic, first? Didn't even mount a rescue attempt.) Hell, he wasn't sure he wanted to work with somebody who was willing to turn around and fight against his old teammates. You just couldn't _trust_ somebody like that. (And, he'd saved the Sniper's _life_. Suddenly having a Medic was a little like slipping off the high wire, only to discover somebody'd put up a net at the last minute.) Nobody else seemed to think the Medic was anything but trustworthy, though. In point of fact, even the Texan's closest friend in this _dang_ place seemed to trust the Medic _more_ than he trusted the Engineer.

...But he was _not_ jealous. Dammit. He _wasn't_. And even if everybody else was just going to blindly follow along, the Engineer was _not_ gonna let his guard down so easily. If the Medic was up to something, if he was going to turn on 'em... well... the Engineer would be ready.

"Might work," was all he said.

---

The Sniper made several attempts to track him down all day, but the Spy managed to keep narrowly avoiding him. It wasn't until that evening, when he attempted to slip outside for a quiet smoke, that the Australian finally managed to catch up. In hindsight, he probably should have chosen one of his less frequented locations.

"Still scheming?"

Since this was like saying "Still breathing?" or observing that the sky was "Still blue?" the Spy could hardly deny it. This did not mean he had to actually _reply_, however, and so merely continued to contemplate his cigarette.

"Stupid question," the Australian agreed, leaning against the wall. "I take it you figured out what's bothering our good doctor."

The Spy seethed, quietly. Of _course_ the Sniper would have noticed. What really stung was that the Australian had noticed _first_. Tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette, the Spy observed, calmly, "I presume zat, regardless of my answer, you will persist in telling me how to do my own job. Correct?"

The Sniper smirked, slightly. "Something like that."

The Spy gestured with his cigarette, and spread the sarcasm on thickly. "Zen by all means, _enlighten _me."

"Its th' uniforms, mate."

He didn't need the Sniper to tell him _that_. He'd figured it out hours ago. Still, heaven forbid he actually _agree_ with the gunman. "You zink he is unnerved by our clothing," the Spy deadpanned, laying the incredulity on thick.

It provoked the desired response. "D'you actually know 'ow long 'e was with the BLUs? Bet it was more'n four days, at least. And all that time, blokes in RED are gunning for 'im. Specifically" The Sniper gave him a significant look. "I dunno about _you_, but if there's an enemy Medic on the field, 'is 'ead is one of the first ones I'm lookin' for."

Fair point. "He does not always listen to his instincts." The fact that the Spy was still alive was a testament to that.

The Sniper shrugged, eloquently.

The Spy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Such a childish gesture was beneath his dignity. "I am confidant zat he can make ze adjustment, given time." Especially with the Heavy's help. Whatever problem the Medic had with the color of his teammate's uniforms, it didn't seem to apply to the Russian giant.

"If he doesn't get 'imself killed, first," the Sniper pointed out, mildly. "If he's still stuck on REDs being dangerous, what d'you suppose he thinks of the BLUs?"

The Spy narrowed his eyes. He hadn't thought of that. _Why_ hadn't he thought of that? He had seen for himself what happened when the Medic was caught off guard, reacting before he had time to think. It was a logical leap, therefore, to realize that if the response to a _RED_ uniform was panic and violence, then a _BLU_ uniform would provoke the opposite response.

And if it happened in the middle of a battle? Where it was more than likely that, sooner or later, the enemy team would surprise the Medic?

The Spy straightened and flicked his cigarette away, into the night. "I will warn ze Heavy."

The Sniper nodded. "Good idea."


	25. Retribution

A/N: Yikes this... took a lot longer than I meant it to. I apologize, folks. In any case, I promise I wont keep you waiting for the _next_ chapter, cross my heart.

We're almost to the finish line. :) I hope you've enjoyed the ride so far. I'll yammer on a bit more about what I've got planned after Autobalance at the end of next chapter. But for now: Story!

* * *

The BLU base.

It felt a little eerie, coming back. The Medic had certainly never been sentimental about the building: it was just a place to stay, not significantly different from any other he'd found himself in. Save for location, this base was practically the same as the last one had been. Or the one before that, or the one before _that_. It wasn't home. It never had been.

But, oh _God_, it felt _safe_.

Which was completely irrational. He was a _RED_ now, everyone inside the building, all his former teammates would be attempting to _kill_ him as soon as they saw him. But he had to keep reminding himself of that fact. For the first time in his _life_, he had to _remind_ himself to be paranoid. It was utterly _ridiculous_.

The Medic had expected to be sick with dread, when this moment finally came. There was nowhere left for the BLUs to run to, after all, and, despite the Heavy's good intentions, it was almost inevitable that someone he knew, someone he used to have a duty to, would die. And the Medic would be at least indirectly responsible. It was hardly a situation that he could just _forget_.

He'd certainly been guilt stricken the night before. If he had got more than a few minutes of sleep, he'd be surprised. Now, however, the Medic was calm. Calmer than he had been in days. But he _shouldn't_ have been. Seeing the BLU base had been a _relief_, as if he'd let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. And they were going into _battle._

Admittedly, his mood was probably at least partially the Heavy's fault. Not that the Medic was complaining. There was just something deeply reassuring about having a friend watching your back, especially one built like a brick wall who would cheerfully volunteer to stand between you and the hail of bullets you often had sailing in your direction. Except... there was more _to_ it than that.

The Medic was well aware of the rumors and speculation about what _really_ was going on between Heavies and their Medics, and had always dismissed them out of hand. The idea was not only ridiculous, it was almost insulting. He was a _professional_. Now that he had some first hand experience, however... Well. He _still_ thought it was ridiculous. But he was starting to understand how some people might get the wrong impression.

Because he'd suddenly found himself trusting his life in the hands of a virtual stranger, someone who he had, really, only met a handful of days ago. All he _really_ knew about the Heavy was that the big man liked tv shows about cowboys and made extremely delicious sandwiches. (Which were apparently called Sandviches, with a capital S. And they _deserved_ it.)

The point was, the Medic had never trusted his life with _anyone_ before. In his experience, trusting people on the battlefield was an insanely stupid idea. It wasn't that he didn't think his teammates were trustworthy---well... alright, he _didn't_, usually, think his teammates were trustworthy, but that was besides the point. He didn't hold it against them. It was perfectly reasonable of them to be distracted, in the middle of a war, by important things like killing the other team and (often) trying to discover how many bullets they could catch with their body before they horribly, horribly died. He didn't expect them to consider _his_ welfare. That wasn't their job. If he couldn't take care of them _and_ himself, then how useless was he?

_Don't answer zhat._

Except then he'd met the Heavy, and it had just been... _instinct._ The Medic hadn't even thought about it, not until later. Like there was a little voice in the back of his head going _Here is somevun you can trust viz your life, _and he didn't once think to question it. In fact, he felt almost safer in the Heavy's presence than he did in the BLU base, though he couldn't honestly put words to the _why_. He felt safer walking into a death trap _with_ the big man, than he did waiting back behind the front lines, behind the Sentry gun, _without_ him.

Which was how he ended up _here_. Hiding in an alcove in the BLU base, around the corner and back a few paces of hallway from the main room that held the Control Point, from which they could hear the incessant _beep_ing of the BLU Sentry Gun. (The Medic was really starting to despise that noise.) He and the Heavy were waiting for his Medigun to build up an Übercharge. It was the safest way to take down a Sentry, though it was hardly surefire. And it was a little reassuring to know that, at least, the Heavy's first priority would be taking out the BLU death machine. The Medic was happy to avoid having a direct (or mostly direct) hand in the demise of his former teammates. There was nothing he could do to _prevent_ their deaths of course. (At least, not without turning traitor _again_, and, really, he didn't think he had _two_ unspeakable betrayals of duty and (at least alleged) loyalty in him. At least, not in one week.) But... at least he didn't have to _cause_ them.

_Please. Just... don't let zhe _Pyro_ come after us..._

Of the three remaining members of the BLU team he had actually known, she was the one he'd actually _worked_ with. The other two he wasn't too worried about: The Sniper and the Spy were well equipped to hold their own against a Medic-Heavy team. But the Pyro...

Running feet pattering down the hall behind him made him glance back and take a reflexive step closer to the Heavy. But it was just the Scout. The Medic wasn't entirely sure _why_ the runner was here---the narrow corridors in this entrance didn't provide a lot of room to maneuver, and the young man had opted for following the Pyro and the Soldier down the main ramp. _He must have changed his mind..._

Except...

There was something wrong. The Medic couldn't put his finger on it. The Scout definitely wasn't a _Spy_, he was running far too fast... But he wasn't stopping. Was he crazy? There was a Sentry ahead, the Scout couldn't just-

A second, identical Scout came into view, pelting after the first. Who was raising the bat he carried as he closed in. And finally, _finally_, the Medic noticed the little voice in the back of his head that had been frantically waving its metaphorical arms at him and screaming _BLU YOU IDIOT HE'S A BLU __**AND YOU'RE NOT**_.

Several things happened almost at once.

His finger tightened on the trigger that would release the Medigun's built up Übercharge, just an instant _after_ the "weapon" jolted slightly under his hands, informing him that the charge was ready. Just an instant _after_ the BLU Scout's bat had descended on his head and the world exploded into stars.

---

The battle had started off tolerably well for the BLU Sniper, despite the fact his team was rubbish and his employers, in their infinite wisdom, had assigned him, a _long range_ specialist, to defend the interior of a building from attack. He'd taken up a position at the bottom of the entrance ramp, and greeted the RED Engineer with an arrow that nearly took the other man's head off, and would have, if the Texan hadn't ducked out of the way in time. A second arrow went right through the Sentry the RED had been setting up.

But then the RED Pyro and Soldier showed up, and the Sniper suddenly had not only rockets, but his own reflected arrows being shot at him. Deciding he definitely wasn't paid enough to put up with this, the assassin retreated back into the main room. He'd been planning to stand back, by the far wall, where he could get a good angle on the wankers when they reached the bottom of the ramp. That is, until he heard a Spy's cloaking device go off around the corner, where there was a long hallway that ran parallel to the main room. It was pretty much useless, unless you wanted to get around and flank the enemy. Or if a certain sneaky wuss in a cheap suit wanted to slip in without getting caught in the crossfire. The smarmy wanker probably was heading towards the BLU Engineer's Sentry.

The BLU Sniper smirked to himself. Trouncing the Spy would be much more satisfying than trying to take out that bloody Pyro and his posse. _Ready for round two, ya fancy bastard?_

Keeping one hand near his kukri, the BLU Sniper stalked towards the source of the sound, cautiously probing the air in front of him with one end of his bow, searching for invisible bodies.

He made it into the hallway without finding anything, and the hallway itself appeared empty. The wanker hadn't got past him, had he? Nah, the Engineer would have started making a fuss if there was a Spy mucking with his machines. _'E's got t' be in 'ere somewhere..._

The cloaking noise, a soft, electric sort of hum, sounded somewhere at the other end of the hall, and the Sniper frowned. _Damn_. _Don't tell me its _our_ bloody wanker that's lurkin' about_. That would just ruin all his fun. But it wouldn't hurt to go check.

When he reached the end of the hallway, the room beyond was empty. Outside, there seemed to be a lull in the fighting, because it had gone pretty quiet, except for the odd insult being flung, and the beeping of the respective Sentries.

He listened to the silence, searching for footsteps, but nothing was moving in the hallway. Well, he wasn't going to go hunting Spies right into the line of fire... As much as he would have enjoyed wiping the smug smirk off the slimy bastard's face, the BLU Sniper would just have to settle for trying to bow-and-arrow one of the other REDs to death from a distance. There was that RED Heavy still running around here, somewhere. Maybe the Aussie could go hunting for him, instead.

The Sniper turned to head back down the corridor... and there was the RED Spy. Standing in the middle of the bloody hallway, undisguised, uncloaked, and _smirking. _The glorified pea shooter that the spook called a gun was in one hand and, seeing he had the Sniper's attention, the Spy raised it. But not to point at the gunman. Instead, his smirk growing decidedly sinister, the Spy aimed for the solitary light bulb, hanging from the ceiling above them and fired. Then silently melted into the shadows that had suddenly spread around them.

And a _second_ Spy uncloaked behind him.

Two Spies. _Two_. Grudgingly, the Sniper muttered, "Clever." And _ducked_.

---

The gunshot drew the BLU Pyro's attention. There were windows along the wall, and the hallway beyond was not _completely_ dark. But the main room wasn't exactly adequately lit, either, and it didn't seem willing to share much of its illumination. It begrudged her just enough, however, to make out some tall, lanky shapes moving in the dim light. _Spies? _Definitely. _Sniper? _The Pyro glanced around at her team and decided, _Probably_. Everyone else was pretty much accounted for, except for the Scouts, and neither of them were tall enough to be the mystery figures. A second glance at her team indicated that no one else seemed to have noticed. They were all riveted on watching one of the other entrances.

_Oh dear. It looks like the Sniper might need a hand. _Behind her mask, the Pyro grinned, nastily_. Too bad I'm busy._

Feeling decidedly more cheerful, the Pyro turned her attention back to guarding her Engineer's Sentry.

---

The Medic felt fine. Felt _wonderful_, in fact, though he was familiar enough with Ubercharges to know that it couldn't last. Because, while you might not notice trivial things like broken bones or sucking chest wounds while you were Übered, the charge only lasted ten seconds, and reality would, inevitably, come rushing back in. With all the pain and agony that might entail.

But, even with that depressing fact hanging over his head, it was difficult to let a little thing like imminent death ruin the mood. Because, for ten seconds, he was invulnerable. Untouchable. Safe. _Ha._ _Try and backstab me now, schweinhunds!_

Of course, the giddiness might be partly due to the blow to the head, but the Medic didn't think so. For one thing, that shouldn't be able to affect him for another 8 seconds. 7... 6...

The Heavy had obviously realized something was wrong. For one thing, the Medic had activated the charge too early for them to get to the Sentry. For another, the unpleasant crack of wood on bone had seemed surprisingly loud to the Medic. Possibly that had been something of a clue, as well. Whatever the reason, the big man had turned, swinging Sasha around to point down the hall behind them, and seeing the BLUs, the gigantic gun started its warning growl, preparing to fill the narrow hallway with lead.

"Crap!" The Medic wasn't sure which of the Scouts had said it, but it did seem to sum up the situation nicely.

The second Scout backpedaled and bolted back the way he'd come. The first Scout, however, finding himself standing right in front of the minigun wielded by an irate glowing RED giant, holding the bat that had just dented the skull of said giant's best friend... decided he'd be _clever_. He jumped. Touching down briefly on top of the minigun's barrel, he kicked off and tried to escape over the Heavy's shoulder. And he would have made it, too, if the Heavy hadn't let go of Sasha with one hand and snatched the BLU runner out of the air. Then slammed him into the wall. There was an unsettling _crunch_, and when the Heavy let him go, the BLU dropped bonelessly to the ground.

The Medic had backed out of the way, and found himself bumping into a corner. He probably would have felt worse about the BLU Scout's fate, and if there was a later, he would probably find the time to brood about it, but at the moment the Medic was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything happening outside his head.

3 seconds.

No one had ever really suggested that the Übercharge might be addictive, as far as the doctor was aware, but he had his suspicions. Of course, it might not have anything to do with whatever technological science was actually involved in producing the effect. After all, who needed _chemicals_ when you contemplated the psychological draw of suddenly being _immortal_. On the middle of the battlefield, suddenly realizing you just couldn't _die_ was exhilarating. At least in the Medic's experience, and, judging by the way most of his patients tended to break out in maniacal laughter whenever he Übercharged them, he expected they would probably agree. He'd never, in his entire career, met anyone who _didn't_ want to do it again.

Well, except for the ones who died. _That_ happened regrettably often. Not that the Übercharge itself was inherently dangerous (though the Medic doubted if the CEOs of RED or BLU would particularly care if it was). But it _did_ have the tendency to override a person's normal sense of self preservation. It made you invulnerable, after all, so what did it matter if you walked into a Sentry gun nest? Or waded right out into the thick of the enemy team's defense? You couldn't die!

Then, of course, the charge would run out and you'd find yourself surrounded by irate enemies, all of whom suddenly had a deep, personal grudge against you and the ability to act upon it. If you were _lucky_, your poor, hapless Medic, the one that had loyally followed you on your insane, suicidal run, _might_ make it back to safety before you died a horrible, painful death at the hands of your enemies.

Still... the Medic wasn't actually aware of anyone who had died a horrible death after an Übercharge from the horrible wounds they'd sustained _before_ the charge. Usually, if you were Übered, that meant a Medic was healing you. In this particular case, however...

2 seconds.

_Vell... I suppose I'm going to find out._

---

The RED Spy had to admit, the BLU Sniper was a tolerably fair brawler. He supposed it probably had something to do with his chosen "long range" weapon, which was, really, significantly shorter range than the rifle typically favored by other members of his profession.

However, _brawler_ was definitely the word. The man lacked finesse, not to mention class or dignity. Which was hardly surprising, considering the man carried around jars of... disgusting, unspeakable bodily fluids. Nevertheless, his tactics were blunt and to the point, and he turned what might have been an elegant test of skill and cunning into something closer to a battle of brute strength. Something neither of the Spies had in great quantities.

So far, neither side had any clear advantage over the other. Besides the obvious, circumstantial ones, of course. The Sniper kept trying to get a hold of one of the Spies, and the Spies were not yet willing to commit themselves, instead carefully testing his defenses, looking for any weakness they could exploit.

Then the _idiot_, that _incompetent _BLU Spy stepped so he was in between the Sniper and the window, and was, therefore, silhouetted against the only light source. The Sniper seized the opportunity with both hands. Literally. Lunging at the other BLU, he bull rushed the lighter man, slamming him up against the window. Then, grabbing two fistfuls of cheap, tacky suit, the Sniper hurled the BLU Spy at the RED.

Who easily slipped out of the way.

The Sniper, however, had apparently expected him to dodge, because he had lunged again, blindly, following in the BLU Spy's wake. Of course, he might as well have telegraphed the move. The RED ducked under his arm and sidled around behind him, planting an encouraging kick in the small of his back. There was a satisfying _thud_, and an equally satisfying snarl, as the Sniper stumbled headlong into the wall.

Of course, it was just about then that the Spy suddenly realized _he_ was now silhouetted against the window, and narrowly dodged out of the way as a kukri was thrown, haphazardly, at his head. _Stupid_, the Spy snorted, though he wasn't entirely sure which of them he was referring to.

The Sniper followed his weapon, and the RED Spy sniffed, dismissively. _This is getting predictable._ Instead of sidestepping the lunge again, the Spy leaned out of the way of the assassin's swipe, and, with a precise jab at the Australian's midsection with the tip of his knife, forced the Sniper to quickly reverse directions in order to avoid impaling himself. Determined to keep the lanky gunman off balance, the Spy stepped in with another stab to force his opponent backwards. Possibly the BLU Spy was back on his feet by now, and would have the sense of mind to take advantage of the Sniper's unprotected back... but the RED Spy rather doubted it.

The question quickly became moot. The Sniper, instead of stumbling out of the way, took a leaf out of the Spy's book, and side-stepped the strike. Grabbing the Spy's arm, he _twisted_, and would have possibly broken, or at least dislocated, said appendage if the Spy hadn't let the rest of his body follow the motion. Flipping over his own arm, he landed in a crouch, and then returned the favor: seizing hold of the Sniper's arm in return, he slid back and _pulled_, sending the taller man tumbling over his shoulder.

The Sniper tried to pull the Spy down after him, and the Spy responded by trying to stomp on the man's face. Not the most elegant move, perhaps, but it wasn't like anyone was _watching_.

Or, at least, not anyone who _mattered_.

Unfortunately, his foot didn't connect, but the Sniper did let go of his arm in order to roll away. He used the momentum to help him leap to his feet, retrieving his kukri as he did so. The Spy was unconcerned. It was a clunky, inelegant weapon, just like its wielder, and the easily annoyed BLU telegraphed his swipes with it.

"Bloody phony two-faced backstabbin' filthy useless _snake_," the Australian snarled, and taking a furious slash at the shadows in front of him.

The Spy smirked, easily dancing out of the way. _Go on, tell me how you _really_ feel. _He was not, however, so idiotic as to say something out loud, and give his position away. Which was lucky. Because, this time, the deranged assassin hadn't followed up his attack. Instead, the man backed cautiously away, weapon up and ready, and his free hand reached for something in the pocket of his vest.

The Spy froze, gripped by a sudden thrill of terror that, before, he would have insisted was well outside the range of genuine emotions he allowed himself.

_He has anuzzer jar_.

No. No, no, no. He couldn't go through that again. In fact, he refused. The sheer _indignity _of it was _unspeakable_. And this time, there would be _more witnesses_.

The Spy didn't so much as twitch. The smallest footstep, the softest rustle of cloth, and he'd have a thoroughly unspeakable projectile lobbed at him. And then he might actually _survive_, and have to regroup with his team mates, whilst covered in... _ugh_. It didn't help to consider the fact that the Australian almost certainly already had a reasonable idea of where he was.

---

_Where the 'ell is that bloody piker and 'is bloody fancy suit?!_

The BLU Sniper only had the one jar, and if he missed, then that would be that. The bloody spook had to've moved, too, not to mention the Sniper had no idea where the second one had got to. He had his ears peeled for any kind of clue to their whereabouts in the shadows, but if these bastards were good at anything, it was lurking in the dark. Not to mention, he could hear _both_ the RED and BLU Sentries beeping, and it was beginning to grate on the gunman's nerves. Normally, it probably wouldn't have bothered him half as much. Normally, he had a bit more patience than this.

_Normally_, he wouldn't have let himself get ambushed by a couple of spooks in, essentially, a dark alley. _Normally_, he might have had team mates that he could actually _rely_ on.

Though, on second thought, that last one was probably just wishful thinking.

The assassin had half a mind to chuck his Jarate randomly and make a break for it. But that would be admitting defeat, and the day he couldn't take on a couple of lousy hacks in bad suits with one hand tied behind his back was the day the BLU Sniper ate his hat. _Better not muck about. _It was a reasonable guess that at least one of the Spies was somewhere between him and the wall. Even if he missed, there would have to be some kind of reaction that would give away at least one of the wankers' positions, and then he could pounce.

Hefting the gently sloshing jar, the Sniper got ready to lob it into the darkness... when suddenly the Powers That Be presented him with a faint footstep on a silver platter. One of the bastards had moved. Suddenly provided with a target, the Sniper chucked the jar straight at the noise. There was a crash, a tinkling of glass, a startled cry, and then a rather more horrified wail.

The BLU Sniper smirked. _That's what ya get for thinkin' you're clever, mate._

There was a soft click, a few inches away from his ear. It was the loudest _quiet_ noise the gunman had ever heard.

_Oh, bloody-_

---_  
_

The RED Spy lowered his revolver. Calmly, he bent down and retrieved the BLU Sniper's hat, then straightened, settling his purloined _chapeau _on his head with an air of quiet smugness. "You missed," he informed the dead man, politely.

There was a strangled, furious protest from the BLU Spy. The other man was, apparently, _not_ amused. "He most certainly did _not_," the BLU snapped. Then, his already cracking composure slipped a few more notches, and he moaned, teetering on the very edge of hysteria, "Oh, _Dio_... Its _everywhere_..."

"_Mi dispiace,_" the RED murmured, making an effort to sound sincere. Honestly, though, he was feeling rather smug. He'd never understood the saying "I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy." Because _he_ would most _certainly_ wish this on his worst enemy. In fact, he'd probably wish it on the most inconsequential of his enemies, as well. The Spy was _generous_, after all. He wouldn't want to keep all of that indignity and abject horror to himself.

The BLU Spy, of course, did not buy his sincerity for an instant. "_Vaffanculo_," he snarled. The RED Spy merely smirked and reached for his cigarette case. This moment definitely deserved a moment of proper celebration.

It was only after he'd taken a drag that he realized the BLU Spy's moans had ceased. The sudden silence was full of anticipation. The RED Spy froze, and glanced down at the cigarette in his hand. _He couldn't have-_

A rocket burst out of the floor and zipped through the air in front of his face and then exploded somewhere above him. The Spy stifled a yelp, and darted back---only to duck again, just as quickly, as a burst of submachine gun fire went off in the dark behind him. _What?_ It took him a second, and a grenade exploding at his feet, to realize that none of it was real.

"You put somezing in my cigarettes," he observed, trying to stop himself from flinching away from the sound of a Sentry spitting out bullets a few feet from his head, and not entirely succeeding.

There was a knowing, rather sadistic chuckle from the BLU Spy. "_Sì_."

Rather than irritation, the Spy found himself feeling a touch of grudging admiration. And here he'd assumed the few times that the BLU Spy had stumbled into him, during their little deadly dance with the Sniper, had been due to the other man's incompetence. Obviously he had been mistaken. That, coupled with the realization that the BLU had been left in his room, unobserved, for several minutes at _least_, supplied the rest of the picture. If he checked now, the RED Spy was sure he would find one of his packs missing several cigarettes.

Really, the RED Spy should have seen this coming.

There was a rustle of cloth, and a soft "_Aaugh,_" as the other man reached into his drenched, pungent suit for his weapon. "I am not so sorry to say that _this_, I think, is where our partnership ends."

The RED Spy realized he'd backed himself up against the wall. Probably for the best, really. "Ze feeling," he assured the other Spy, dryly, as an imaginary rocket zipped past his nose, "is mutual."

The world was suddenly filled with flames.

---

A few minutes later, the BLU Engineer looked up at the Pyro's warning growl, to see their BLU Spy, looking a bit on the battered side, making his way towards them. The Spy drew up short, frowning at the Pyro. "I merely wished to use the _Distributore_," he informed her, icily, with a gesture towards the machine.

The Engineer frowned at him, expression hovering somewhere between caution and concern. "You look like somethin' the cat dragged in, son. What happened?"

The Spy smoothed his tie, looking a bit sour at the Engineer's description of him. "Our Sniper had some Spy trouble... I went to give him a hand. Though, _unfortunately_, not in time."

Not that the slimy bastard sounded very regretful.

"_And the Spy?_" the Pyro asked (he was fairly sure). _She_ didn't sound particularly put out to hear about the Sniper, either, though the Engineer supposed he couldn't hardly be surprised. To be perfectly honest, the Engineer wasn't exactly devastated by the news, himself. It was difficult to feel sad about the death of a teammate when you were convinced it was just a matter of time before you _all_ went.

"Taken care of."

The Pyro grumbled, sounding a bit disappointed.

The Engineer sighed and waved the Spy towards his Dispenser. "Well, don't just stand there..." He wasn't entirely convinced by the Spy's story, but it wasn't as if the double talking sneak could try anything, not with the Pyro _and_ the Engineer right th-

Before she could stop him, the Spy calmly reached out and slapped a Sapper down onto her Engineer's Sentry. The BLU Pyro yelled "_Spy!_" and pointed her flamethrower at him, but he was right next to the Engineer. She'd set them both on fire and it was marginally more important not to set her teammate on fire than it was to light the Spy up. Which was saying something, really, because she _really_ liked lighting Spies up.

"Spy sappin' my Sentry!" the Engineer barked, sounding indignant. Instead of trying to knock the Sapper off, however, the Texan reached for his shotgun.

Several things happened almost at once.

The RED Soldier took the opportunity to step into view and start firing rockets at the inactive Sentry. The Sentry exploded. And the BLU Engineer blew the Spy away, with his shotgun at point blank range.

* * *

((Tiny A/N: I never actually played Team Fortress Classic, but apparently the Spies had a grenade that made you hallucinate and see gunfire etc that wasn't actually there. Just in case you were wondering where the hell I was coming up with some of this stuff. ;) ))


	26. Fin

A/N: Uh. So. *cough* Hi, guys! Sorry I made you wait so long for this dratted thing, but I literally finished it to my satisfaction a couple of days ago. But, enough about me... Story! More A/N at the end.

* * *

The RED Spy almost tripped over his own corpse, and didn't have time to contemplate how incredibly _bizarre_ that ought to have been. The golden pocket watch he'd filched off of the BLU Spy's charred remains was counting down the seconds before he'd be visible again, and when that happened, he did not want to be _here_, out in the open and undisguised where just about everyone could take a shot at him.

This "Dead Ringer" was a handy little trinket, to be sure, but the Spy still thought he preferred a more... conventional method of cloaking. Needing to be _shot_ to turn invisible seemed counter productive, somehow. And it certainly hadn't helped the BLU Spy, in the end...

_...Once the screaming had stopped, and the flames had died down (and the RED Spy had determined that at least some of that had probably been real) he stepped away from the wall. Picking his way through a hail of hallucinatory gunfire, the Spy made his way over to greet the ace he'd had hidden up his sleeve._

_The RED Pyro turned towards him. The lenses of the man's gas mask glinted in the dark, catching what little light there was that filtered through the window, reminding the Spy of some kind of sinister insect. It was more than a little unnerving, though, of course, the Spy was careful not to let any of that show on his face._

_ Abruptly, the Pyro brought up his hand to flash his customary thumb's up, and asked, "Mh mffmhh?"_

_ The Spy smoothed his tie, "Perfectly." _

...It had been tricky, relying on the Pyro. But, if there was one thing that few of his fellow Spies could comprehend, it was the concept of _teamwork_. So he'd taken a gamble, assuming, correctly, that _whatever_ insidious plot the BLU had been plotting (Really, his _cigarettes? _Now, _that_ was aiming below the belt) his counterpart would not consider the possibility that the RED Spy might actually _tell_ someone about their little venture.

The Spy allowed himself a small, private smirk at that thought, as he ducked into the darkened hallway again. And narrowly missed tripping over the _BLU_ Spy's corpse. Really, this was getting ridiculous. The Spy didn't object to killing people, of course, but it certainly made the battlefield feel rather _cluttered_ after awhile. Couldn't they just hire someone to clean it up?

The Dead Ringer's cloak dissipated with a rather loud electric crackle. The Spy winced and glared at it. Loud _and _impractical. _Tsk_. Fortunately, there did not seem to be any pursuit. Not that there should have been: as far as the BLUs were concerned, he was dead, after all. Cautiously, he crept back over to the doorway and took a moment to inspect the tide of battle. Though he hardly _needed_ to, since, at the same moment, the Announcer declared, "Alert! The final control point is being contested!"

Indeed, the Scout and the Heavy were both standing on the point, watching the Soldier and the BLU Demoman trying to beat each other to death with their bare hands just a few feet away. (They were yelling something incoherent at each other about _betrayal_ and _back stabbing double crossers_ but the Spy didn't really care enough to try and decipher what they were going on about.)

After a moment, the Spy realized what was missing, and frowned. _Just_ the Heavy. The Medic had been, to use the vernacular, sticking like glue to the Heavy's side, particularly on the battlefield. His absence on the point, therefore, was notable.

_I'm sure zhere is a perfectly reasonable explanation. _

_Surely_, there was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

And, just possibly, he should get over there, post haste, and _hear_ it. Just in case it turned out to be _less_ than reasonable, and more on the side of _utterly catastrophic._

* * *

_Earlier_

The Medic wasn't quite sure how he'd got there, but suddenly he and the Heavy were outside the base, and he was leaning on the big man. More like _hanging_, actually, since to lean on the Heavy, he'd need a stepladder. Or possibly stilts. Regardless, it was obvious that only reason he was still standing, much less walking in what could be considered a straight line, was due to the Heavy's help, and semantics didn't really need to come into it.

_Difficulty balancing, _he noted, absently. _Impaired motor controls. Any light sensitiv-Ouch. Ja, light sensitivity. Ringing in zhe ears?_

He tried listening, and realized the Heavy had been talking to him. "Vhat?"

"Dispenser is right over here. You will be fine, da? Do not worry."

Even with the concussion-and the Medic was fairly certain it was a concussion, the symptoms seemed to line up, even if he couldn't remember how he'd gotten it-he could tell that the Heavy was trying to reassure himself as much as the doctor. With his free hand, the doctor reached up to pat the Heavy's shoulder, and only missed on the first two tries. "_Yes,_" the Medic agreed, "_Nothing to worry about_."

Conversely, this didn't seem to reassure the Heavy at all. The Medic felt a bit put out about that. He should have been better at comforting people. He was a _doctor_, after all. But he'd never really seemed to get the hang of it. On the other hand, this was a battlefield, so what did they all expect? He didn't have time to save his teammates lives _and _coddle them. They weren't children, it wasn't as if they _needed_ a reassuring pat on the head to go along with all their newly unperforated organs. Honestly. They had absolutely no reason to complain.

Not that they were complaining. He was fairly sure. Not about _that_ anyway. _Vhat was I zhinking about?_ Oh, yes, that was right. Symptoms.

_ Vas I slurring my vords?_ He couldn't be sure. Maybe he should try saying something else and pay better attention. But, no, then he'd just be talking to himself, and the Heavy might think he'd gone crazy. That probably hadn't happened. Though, the Medic had to admit, he wasn't feeling terribly lucid at the moment.

The _Heeey, I am Completely Uninjured, Over heeeere_ feeling twinged and the Medic winced. _Gottverdammt_, people were trying to talk to him again. Couldn't they see he was busy? And that twinge was emphatically not helping. "Vhat!"

"You got banged up a bit, Doc," said a somewhat blurry someone, who wasn't the Heavy. The voice sounded familiar. The Medic felt inclined to be irritated at it, just on general principle, though he wasn't sure _why_. Besides the fact they seemed intent on stating the obvious. "You feelin' alright?"

_Vhat a stupid question. _The Medic pinched the bridge of his nose and grumbled, "_I have a concussion. How do you _think_ I feel?_"

There was a pause. Then a sigh. In a tone that suggested he was trying _very hard_ to stay polite, the Engineer (because it was apparently the Engineer, the Medic had finally connected the distinctive American twang to a face) asked, "Couldja repeat that, Doc? Maybe in _English_?"

The Medic frowned up at the Texan, and then the _up_ gave him momentary pause. _How did he get so tall all of sudden?_ Oh. The Medic was sitting. When had _that_ happened? Trying to turn his attention back to the matter at hand, the doctor growled, "_That _was_ English-_" And then caught himself. Because, this time he'd actually _heard_ the words coming out of his mouth. And, "_No. No, that was not._" The Medic winced a little, chagrined. _Whoops._ No wonder the Heavy had looked so worried before.

"Dang right, it _vahs neeshed_," the Engineer agreed, with just a touch of sarcasm_, _his accent brutally murdering the German words. The Medic tried not to wince. Even the Scout's attempt had been marginally better. "I reckon _my_ ears work just fine."

"Sorry," the Medic grumbled, grudgingly. _Please excuse me for having my head cracked open. __So sorry to have inconvenienced you.__  
_

Oddly enough, though, his head was actually starting to feel a little better. Funny, he would have expected it to take longer than... Oh, he was sitting next to a Dispenser. That explained a lot. For some reason, however, the Engineer, and the Heavy (who was still hovering nearby, looking worried), were still blurry. His eyesight really should have been one of the first things to clear up.

The Engineer, oblivious to the fact he was stubbornly refusing to come into focus, rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly. The doctor couldn't make out much of his expression, but apparently he hadn't been expecting an apology, even an extremely begrudging one. "Yeah, well. This somethin' we should be worried about?"

The Medic gave this some slightly more coherent thought. Without being able to give himself a proper examination, he would have to guess it was just disorientation. He discovered he could manage a "No" in the correct language, without much trouble.

The big blurry shape that was the Heavy seemed to relax, fractionally. The Engineer's blur turned to the Russian's. "I'll keep an eye on 'im. You'd better go let th' boys up front know we need a Plan B."

The Heavy shifted his weight, looking reluctant, and glanced down at the Medic. "Doktor?"

He really didn't want to let the big man out of his sight. Besides just the fact that he'd feel safer. What if something happened to the Russian, while the Medic wasn't around to watch his back? But that was silly, the big man had managed this long without him, he could manage for just a couple minutes more. So the Medic gestured vaguely towards the ramp (which was, inexplicably, more in focus than his teammates were) and assured him, carefully, making sure it was in _English_ this time, "I vill be fine."

"You are sure?"

The Medic caught himself smiling, just a little, and quickly stopped. Still... It was probably just the head trauma, but suddenly, this insane mess, this crazy, complicated, horrible accident that had been the last few weeks felt... worth it.

...Definitely the head trauma.

"Of course," he replied, firmly. Then, before he could stop them, the Medic found the words, "Be careful, ja?" coming out of his mouth.

Even though it was still persistently a little blurry, the doctor could still make out the Heavy's grin. "Da. Of course," he echoed. Hefting his minigun again, the Russian turned to start making his way towards the ramp.

* * *

This, the RED Scout decided, had to be the most boring battle he had ever, _ever_ been in. _Nothing_ even _close_ to interesting had happened. The BLUs were just hiding behind their stupid Sentry gun, and he wasn't quite bored enough yet to see if he could outrun auto-targeted high caliber bullets. (He totally could, though, he just didn't feel like it right now.)

The only one currently keeping him company was Cap'n America, too. Pyro had mysteriously disappeared sometime around the start of battle, and everybody else was off flanking, or somethin'. The Scout woulda much rather been off flanking, too, but Cap'n might go crazy and decide _he_ could outrun auto-targeted, high caliber bullets, and _he_ totally couldn't.

Hopefully the Doc would hurry up and Ubercharge the Heavy, already, and then the Scout could stop listening to how many ways Sun Tzu would have killed these BLU pansies with just his thumb.

"So. We need Plan B," boomed a voice behind him, interrupting the Soldier's tirade.

The Scout whirled around to find the Heavy looming behind him, with a whole boatload of _absolutely no Medic_ following him. _Shit!_ "Where's the Doc?"

The Heavy jerked a meaty thumb over his shoulder, back up the ramp. "By Dispenser."

Which explained absolutely _nothing_. Which didn't stop the Soldier from jumping all over it. "WE ARE NOT HERE TO SIT AROUND THE WATER COOLER, _LADIES_, WE ARE HERE-"

The Heavy looked like he was seriously considering pummeling the Soldier into the ground. "To take down tiny baby Sentry. _Yes_. So. Are we coming up with plan, or are you to be yelling?"

"_Mmph_," said the RED Pyro, cheerfully, appearing out of thin freaking air, practically. "Mh mphh mhh mphhm mhh hmmh Mhhmphrh."

The Scout, who had caught something about _Spy_ and _Sentry_, had just barely enough self restraint to keep from making a _Lassie_ joke. _What's that, Pyro? Spy fell down a well?_

Cap'n, though, had apparently understood every frickin' word. "So, he's finally decided to stop sipping crumpets and get his hands dirty with the REST of us AMERICANS."

"_Still_ Russian," the Heavy muttered.

To the Scout's disappointment, that the Spy chose that moment to start picking on the BLUs. Just when things were starting to get _interesting_.

* * *

There was a great deal of Not Talking going on, by the RED Engineer's machines. Only the Sniper seemed to be particularly comfortable with it. Matters were not helped by the fact that the Engineer didn't have much to do. His machines were all up built and as decked out as he could get them (without extra gear, a bigger design budget, and a blatant disregard for the laws of physics), and none of the BLUs had shown up to try and shake up that status quo.

The fact that the Medic was still feeling mildly concussed wasn't exactly improving the situation, either.

_That_, at least, was getting better. For the most part. His eyesight was still not clearing up, but he'd quickly discovered that _that _was less head trauma, and more losing his spectacles while _acquiring_ said head trauma. It was annoying, but not life threatening, especially with the Sentry gun perched up on the stairway overhead.

The Texan had gone to stand and watch over the Sniper's shoulder, which the gunman was tolerating admirably, in the Medic's opinion. Certainly if somebody had tried that when _he_ was trying to work, they would find themselves being threatened with impromptu surgery, without anesthesia.

"Spy sappin' my Sentry!"

The Medic started in surprise, but the yell hadn't come from the Engineer. Or, at least, not the _RED_ Engineer. The two REDs at the top of the ramp were staring down the ramp rather more intently than they had been a second or two ago.

The sounds of fighting drifted up from the interior of the base, and the Medic wasn't sure if he was feeling relieved, because the Spy was apparently still all right, or worried, because... well, just generally _because_. (After all, the list of things that he _didn't_ have to worry about was a short one indeed.)

The Texan must have heard the Sentry going down, as well, because he muttered, "Nobody's got any respect for craftsmanship these days..."

The Sniper chuckled softly.

The Medic carefully climbed to his feet, one hand on the Dispenser to keep his balance, though once he was up he discovered it wasn't necessary. He felt, more than saw, the Engineer's suspicious stare, and answered the unspoken question, "I should catch up viz zhe Heavy." After only a moment's hesitation, he headed towards the entrance he and the Heavy had originally taken, rather than taking the ramp.

The Engineer, of course, noticed. "Control Point's _that_ way, Doc."

"Zhere are two entrances," the Medic retorted, without looking back. _And _zhis_ vun doesn't have a Sniper vatching me valk all zhe vay down._ Yes, the Sniper was on _his_ team, but try telling that to his skin, which was crawling at the very idea. Not to mention, if he went this way, he might find his glasses. (Or step on them, knowing his luck.) Either way, the Medic didn't feel the need to elaborate just for the Engineer's sake.

It was possibly just his imagination, but the Medic swore he could feel the man's goggled gaze boring into his back until he stepped out of sight. He was careful not to look back, because he had absolutely no desire to ever find out.

Some ways down the hallway, the Medic realized he was stalling. Most of the gunfire had stopped, up ahead, but there was still some indistinct sounds of fighting. He really should be hurrying, even if his vision _was_ impaired. It wasn't hard to guess why he _wasn't_, though. But if he simply had wanted to wait it out, then the _smart_ thing would have been to wait by the Dispenser. Listening to the REDs joke about his former- ...about the BLUs' defeat.

Sigh.

Also, he really should have been paying more attention to where he was going. Just because the BLUs were on the run didn't mean he was necessarily _safe_, after all. As he discovered, much to his chagrin, as he rounded a corner and found himself face-to-flamethrower with the BLU Pyro.

* * *

The RED Engineer watched the Doc disappear into the base with a frown. Call it irrational paranoia if you will, but something really wasn't sitting right with him. There was no good reason that _he_ could see why the Medic shouldn't just use the ramp to catch up with the Heavy, especially since it was the only route the REDs' had covered and _knew_ was safe. Sure, the BLUs probably had their hands full, but that didn't mean a couple of them might not slip through the cracks. Multiple entrances meant multiple exits, too. The Doc could very well run into some of the BLUs, going that way.

It occurred to the Texan that the Medic might well know this, and just might be counting on it. For _what,_ the Engineer wasn't really sure, but he couldn't quite dismiss the thought out of hand.

_Maybe I oughta follow him. _ Hell, even if the Medic had a squeaky clean conscience (and the Texan sure doubted _that_) the Doc might just get himself killed. The Engineer's machines hadn't been much help this battle. Might as well make himself useful _somehow_, right?

* * *

"I'm... just gonna go make sure he gets there alright," Truckie spoke up, abruptly, tearing the Sniper's gaze away from his scope.

The Engineer? And the Medic? Armed and unobserved? Oh, wouldn't _that_ just be bloody brilliant. "I-" He started. But something of that line of thought must have shown on his face, because the Texan was suddenly glaring at him. Accusingly.

_You think you know what the next words outta my mouth are gonna be, and you don't like 'em, do you, mate? _Because the next words were going to be _don't know if that's a good idea_, but if it were anyone else's idea, it _would_ have been a good one. And they both knew it. Finishing that sentence was as good as saying _I don't trust you, mate_.

So, did he?

It wouldn't have been a question, before. The Engineer was a reliable bloke, after all, and until the Medic showed up, the Sniper hadn't had any reason to doubt the Texan's ability to make rational, logical decisions. Though, truth be told, it had started before the Doc had even shown up. On _their_ side of the battlefield, anyway. The Texan seemed to be on edge more often. Touchier. His previously inexhaustible patience had shortened considerably.

And his team had noticed, obviously. Even the ones like the Soldier, who probably hadn't even realized they'd noticed. They'd been dealing with him a little more delicately, in as much as any of them knew the meaning of the word, even if it just meant giving him some extra space. Even the Scout had been leaving him alone, for the most part.

It hadn't occurred to the Sniper that the Engineer might see things differently. From his perspective, his team was either treating him like he was unstable, or avoiding him altogether.

Bit unfair, really, come to think of it. Especially since a lot of the ones avoiding the Texan had gravitated towards their newest teammate, instead.

The Sniper owed the Medic one. His near miss wouldn't have missed if not for the Doc, and he knew it. And he honestly didn't know if the Engineer was likely to do something rash and potentially violent if he got the Medic alone for a few minutes.

But.

He had to give his friend the benefit of the doubt. Otherwise they might just lose themselves an Engineer. And that'd be a bloody shame.

"-can keep an eye on your machines, mate," the Sniper finished, getting his feet.

The Engineer's accusing glare derailed itself. Looking a bit startled, then a bit suspicious, he eyed the Sniper, like he wasn't quite sure he believed what he was hearing. "You don't hafta do that."

The assassin shrugged. "'Aven't managed to get a shot off this whole fight. I might as well make myself useful."

Truckie didn't seem to know what to say to that. After a moment, he just nodded, and started after the Medic. The Sniper meandered nonchalantly over to the Dispenser and tried not to worry too much about the fact he might, just possibly, have to explain all this to the Spy.

* * *

_ Rule number 1 (subsection 4) of the unwritten Medic's handbook: Never turn your back on a Pyro._

The Medic had always had a lot of trouble with that particular rule. True, he _had_ become quite adept at running backwards, firing frantically, but the risk of running into something you couldn't see and getting stuck or killed or _whatever_ usually outweighed the risk of turning his back on an enemy Pyro and just _potentially_ dying an especially excruciating horribly painful death. Usually. This time, somehow, he just couldn't look away.

Which was really, very unlucky, because whoever had designed the Medic's uniform was a _sadist_. A long, trailing white coat for a profession that involved a great deal of running backwards for your very life? _Thank _you. Thank you so _very _much.

To be fair, it wasn't the coat's fault to begin with. No, first it was his _verdammt_ boots fault. (Actually, it was almost certainly panic that had tangled his feet up under him, rather than the boots, but logic and reason could just shut the hell up, he wanted something to _blame_.) Once he was down, however, it was the coat's fault he kept inadvertently pinning himself instead of scrambling to his feet, which was the _intent_, until the BLU Pyro caught up with him.

So, really, in the grand scheme of things, the Medic supposed he should be incredibly grateful that he was, still, somehow, not on fire. Yet. And he _was _grateful, most assuredly, but the thought in the very forefront of his mind as he stared into the nozzle of the flamethrower a few inches from his face, above the gibbering terror, was: _Oh, gottverdammt. Zhis, _again_?_

The Medic was really getting _very_ tired of this "_held at gunpoint"_ business. He did not appreciate it at _all_.

There was a startled noise from the BLU Engineer, and then the sound of a revolver being cocked.

"I zink I have somezing of yours," came the RED Spy's voice.

* * *

The BLU Pyro was having something of an existential crisis. She _should_ be setting the RED Medic on fire. He was a RED, and that's what REDs were _there_ for. (Besides hitting them with her axe _while_ they were on fire, but that was less fun.) But she didn't _want_ to. She didn't want to set something on fire. Something she was _allowed_ to set on fire. It was _weird_. And confusing. And she didn't really like it.

It was _her_ Medic. _No_ one could manage to look _that_ exasperated at her, even when she was about to set them on fire. But there was no mistaking the RED uniform. Which meant he was the enemy, except how could he be, because they'd been friends, kind of, or at least as much as the Pyro typically had friends, and now she was supposed to set him on fire, and it wasn't _fair_ to tell her to set something on fire that she didn't want to, that was _cheating_, somehow, and-

And then the RED Spy said, "I zink I have somezing of yours."

The Pyro turned around. The RED Spy's arm was around her Engineer's neck, pinning him in place while the Spy held a gun to his head. Inexplicably, this made her feel better. Angry-furious, in fact-but _better_. Here, at last, was a problem she could solve with fire. (True, solving this with fire would involve setting her Engineer on fire, too, at least a little but _LALALALA BURNING THINGS SHUT UP._)

She let out an enraged snarl, as she started to charge, but the snarl abruptly became a startled yelp, as someone scythed her feet out from under her. Then it was punctuated by an _Oof!_ as the Medic sat down on her.

* * *

"_Dummkopf_," he started, with feeling. "Vhat do you zhink you're-"

"Success!" purred the Announcer's voice. The Medic was really starting to hate the sound of her voice. Somehow, the smug way she announced their victory was even _more_ aggravating than the disdain when she berated them for losing.

The BLUs sagged a little, as the implications of this announcement sank in. The Pyro's gasmask thunked dully against the floor as she dropped her head. "..._Fhhk._"

"An adequate, if somewhat crude, assessment of your situation, yes." The Spy's tone danced between amusement and contempt.

The BLU Engineer looked as though he'd tasted something sour. "You spineless son of a bitch," he growled. And he looked as though he was winding up to say a bit more, as the Spy looked on amused, except that someone interrupted him.

Someone who was sitting halfway up the stairs, just to one side, with his shotgun resting on his knees. "Nah. He ain't _spineless_." The RED Engineer got to his feet and made his way down the remaining steps. "Rest of it's pretty accurate, though."

If the Spy had been startled by his teammate's sudden appearance, the Medic hadn't noticed. (This was possibly because he was busy trying not to have a heart attack-why did people keep _sneaking up_ on him?) The ambiguously European man greeted the other RED with his usual smirk. "I'm going to take zat as a compliment."

"You would," the Engineer retorted, shortly, as he quite obviously sized up the BLUs. Turning to the Medic, he asked, dryly, "Recruiting, Doc?"

The Medic glared at him. "_No_."

"Then..?"

He shot a quick glance at the Spy, hoping he might get some help from that quarter, but the bastard was suddenly very intent on watching the ceiling tiles with an innocent expression on his face. _Some help you are..._

Why was this difficult? Why couldn't he just form the words _We're letting them go_? It wasn't as though the Engineer had some kind of authority over him. The only one on the team who had some kind of _rank_ was the Spy, and that was only by general consensus, plus the fact that no one else wanted to bother. So what, exactly, gave the Texan the right to waltz in here like he'd caught the Medic red handed, and then try to make him squirm? And why in the _world_ was the Medic actually _squirming_?

_Gottverdammt._

"Zhen _vhat_?" he snapped. "I do not need to explain myself to _you_."

Out of the corner of his eye, the Medic saw the Spy close his eyes and grimace, in an exaggerated, almost cartoonish fashion. The Medic ignored him. So did the Engineer.

Who frowned. "Some folks might consider this scene to be a mite _suspicious_."

The Medic had gotten very good at staring down his nose at people, even when he had to look up to see them, and this skill served him well now. "Zhey vould be incorrect," he replied, icily.

If it had been physically possible to ignite someone with a furious glare, _both_ the Medic and the Engineer would have simultaneously combusted.

"We're being paid to kill these folks, Doc," the Engineer started. But the Medic had really had enough.

"Ve're being _paid_ to capture a ridiculous little square on zhe ground. Vhich ve have accomplished. _Vell done_, us. Ve do not accomplish anyzhing further by killing zhem _now_."

"Its the principle of the thing."

"Not to mention, zere _is_ a certain satisfaction of a job well done."

It was not actually possible to tell who snapped "_Shut up_" at the Spy first. To the naked ear, the Medic and Engineer had done so in unison. The Spy gave a little shrug, but subsided. But, the distraction had at least given the Medic a moment to let the _ridiculousness_ of that statement sink in. "If any of us cared about _zhe principle of zhe zhing_, zhen _I _vouldn't _be_ here," he pointed out.

"I..." the Engineer began, and then stopped. The Medic wasn't as adept at reading expressions as the Spy, but it looked a lot like the Engineer was somewhat irritated that the rules of the argument had just been changed on him. After all, it _was_ something of a low blow, suddenly drawing attention to the elephant in the room that they'd both been trying so hard to pretend didn't exist. He watched the Texan's expression, and tried to convince himself that the next words out of the other man's mouth weren't going to be _That can be fixed._

What he _wasn't_ expecting was to hear a soft "_Mhdhhk?_" from the BLU Pyro.

It was probably too late to start wishing that this wasn't happening. Trying to avoid the Engineer's gaze, the Medic braced himself. Maybe if he was lucky, the Texan would just shoot him, and put him out of his misery. "Ja?"

Not for the first time, the Medic wished he hadn't become quite so adept at understanding words muffled by a gas mask.

"_Why'd you leave?_"

He half expected someone (cough _the Spy_ cough cough) to interject their own opinion. He half expected the Soldier to show up at this, the most inopportune moment _ever_, to start shouting and blowing people up_. _But none of these things happened. The whole damn world sat in silence, very quietly and patiently waiting to hear his answer. And it was funny. Because, as much as he'd been dreading, and fretting, and worrying about this whole mess, when it came right down to it, he didn't have to make the world wait long.

"My... friends needed me to."

He did not even have to look over to _feel_ the smirk radiating off of the Spy, and the Medic wondered if the other man was going to bother to deny it, later. In the middle of the positively _resounding_ silence that had followed his reply, the buzzer for cease fire finally, _finally_ echoed through the base. The Spy released his grip on the BLU Engineer and gave the man a small shove away from him, then holstered his weapon and started fussing over his rumpled suit, trying to get everything back into perfect order. The Medic got off the Pyro and, after a moment's hesitation, offered her a hand up. Which she ignored.

In favor of punching him in the gut. Immediately after which, she enveloped him in a bone-crunching hug that, if he hadn't just had all the air knocked out of him would have knocked the air right out of him.

The Medic managed to grunt a strangled "_Nngh_" of protest. Not that he was objecting, _really_. But, while he was, in actuality, more relieved than irritated by this reaction, he _very emphatically_ didn't want word getting around that people could hug him and survive.

The BLU Pyro let him go. Then, socking him (comparatively) gently on the arm, grumbled, "_Jerk_." Without waiting for a reply (which was a good thing, because he doubted he could manage anything coherent until he'd managed to re-inflate his lungs), the Pyro turned away and grabbed the shellshocked looking BLU Engineer by the arm. "_C'mon._"

The shocked silence lasted until the BLUs had disappeared up the staircase.

Then the Engineer glanced from the Spy, who was still preening, to the Medic, who was too busy trying to regain his composure (and breathe) to demanded answers out of (Which was probably just as well, because he hadn't been inclined to answer _anyway_). And sighed. "Guess I'd better go pack my Sentry up."

* * *

Once the Engineer's footsteps had faded, the Spy looked up from his suit. The Medic seemed to have recovered enough from the hug to stand and watch him, impatiently. "Are you quite finished?" the doctor demanded.

The Spy sighed, a touch melodramatically. "I suppose. Its something of a lost cause, anyway."

They started down the hallway, leading back towards the now-RED control point, side by side.

After a few steps, the Spy said, innocently, "So. These _friends _you mentioned-"

"I vas talking about zhe Heavy," was the firm reply.

The Spy smirked. "I admit, he is quite large, but I still don't zink ze plural qualifies."

The Medic grumbled under his breath, and then added, somewhat grudgingly, "...possibly also zhe Scout."

"Oh? No one else?"

"Mm."

Nonchalantly, the Spy the looped a companionable arm over the Medic's shoulders. Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out the pair of spectacles he'd nearly stepped on, on the way to intercept the BLUs, and offered them to his teammate with a smirk. "Zat wasn't a _no_, Doctor."

The Medic accepted the glasses, with strained dignity, and a sidelong glare at the Spy. Resettling his spectacles on the bridge of his nose, the Medic heaved a long suffering sigh, and did not completely succeed in keeping a straight face. "Vould you please stop touching me."

* * *

He had a sneaking suspicion that the only reason the Spy had obeyed was that the Control Point-and thus their teammates-was almost in sight. The small crowd of REDs were clustered there, looking around their newly captured point with an air of smug victory. (Or, in the Soldier's case, angry delirium, but this was par for the course.)

REDs. On the RED Control Point. Red, red, red, red, red. Ah, well. It really wasn't _that_ bad of a color, he supposed...

The Heavy spotted them, and waved. "Doktor! Everything is okay?"

"Ja," the Medic replied, absently.

And, quite suddenly, realized that everything _was._

_End  
_

_

* * *

_A/N: I hate writing endings. Holy cow, do I hate writing endings... Trying to get something that adequately wraps up all of the lose ends that I feel need to be wrapped up (while potentially leaving some loose to expound upon later)? Aggravating!

And, err, yeah, I realize how ironic that "didn't have to make the world wait long" bit was, considering how long it took me to finish this freakin' chapter.

But! Finally! Done!

...which means I can get started on the sequel! :D

So, yes. Autobalance is done. I've got plenty of ideas for a sequel, and a couple of one-shots... I can't give you guys any kind of time frame to look for them in, but hopefully it wont be another six months. ;) (There may also be an epilogue tagged on to the end of this, but we'll see about that...)

ALSO if someone can tell me how to go back and fix my previous chapters WITHOUT just having to re-submit everything and potentially flood people's inboxes, that would be awesome. Because apparently my paragraph breaks got eaten, along the way, and I've noticed a couple of italic-sentences that just got eaten. I'd like to go back through and polish everything up, and if anybody knows the best way to do so, please send me a message? Thank you!

And, I really, really hope you guys have enjoyed. I can't begin to express how grateful I am for the feedback. :)


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